


One for the Road

by caffeinatedmusing



Series: Adventures of an Altmer Rogue [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedmusing/pseuds/caffeinatedmusing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven Rock has seen better days and so has Teldryn Sero. But with contracts few and far between, what is a gainfully unemployed mercenary to do? A new arrival might just be the spellsword's ticket to anywhere else.</p>
<p>Also posted on fanfiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

Teldryn had just settled back into his favorite chair by the fire with a fresh mug of sujamma, his back to the wall and an eye to the door, as he stretched his legs and considered his options. He had been spending more time at the Retching Netch of late, ostensibly to get word out that he was up for hire again, but even Geldis hadn’t had any leads. In truth he was hanging around the bar as much out of boredom as he was for networking purposes. He was by no means the only one. While the tavern was next to deserted; Drovis cleaning still empty tables for the third or fourth time in as many hours, there were still a few patrons deep in their cups and depression at separate dark corners about the place.

Solsteim had fallen on hard times, with the mine closing and folks out of work. The merchants had been the first to leave. Now the air smelled of desperation as much as any volcanic fallout. Whole families were scraping up savings for their boat tickets back to the mainland. Walking through town this evening, he had noticed more boards up over doors and darkened windows, the streets and market were thinning out earlier every evening. 

Raven Rock was no longer a place anyone went to earn or spend money and even the long term residents were talking about clearing out. 

Teldryn was planning on doing the same. His last ‘job’ had been to guard a group of prospectors scouting around the north side of the island and into Reikling territory. The trip had been a bust and they hadn’t been able to pay him upon their return. Not that he was exactly hurting for money. Yet. But that had been weeks ago and one did not survive as a freelance mercenary by failing to plan ahead. 

Glover Mallory came through the door, nodding to him as he headed down the stairs to the bar, unwrapping his facecloth as he went. The breeze must have picked up for the night if he felt he needed to cover up just to cross the market plaza from his forge. Teldryn felt the sympathetic itch in his chest and resisted the urge to start coughing. 

A group of the Redoran guard came in a few moments later, pulling helmets off and heading down for a round after working their shift. No prospects there, but his sharp ears picked up on their conversation as they headed down the stairs.

“Did ya get a look at that stranger came off the boat this afternoon?” The first guard sounded scandalized. 

“Hard to miss. S’wit won’t last a day here dressed like that.” Second guard sounded bored.

“Bloody Altmer. What is he doing here, did he say? Better not be trouble.” This one sounded suspicious, probably a by- the- book type who detested any excitement. That described too many to Teldryn’s way of thinking.  
The conversation faded out of earshot as they headed down to the bar but it hardly mattered. He had heard all he needed.

His eyes narrowed behind the goggles he was still wearing out of habit. He took a long slow sip of his drink and considered this new information. A stranger had come in, an altmer, and unprepared for Raven Rock. Could be an opportunity for work. Could also be all kinds of trouble. Most Altmer this far from the Summerset Isles were bureaucrats or soldiers for the Aldmeri Dominion. What were they called again? The-something…?

What in Oblivion would one of them be doing here? 

He had never had any problems with them, personally, but he had never lived anywhere where they had kept a heavy presence before either. He’d heard the stories, though. People disappearing. That was something to stay clear of. On the other hand, if it got him off this ash cursed island, maybe it would be worth the risk to negotiate a contract? Strictly short term, of course. 

His musing was interrupted when the door swung open again to admit a gust of wind borne ash and a tall figure who paused silhouetted for a moment by the lanterns outside before stepping into the firelight inside and dusting himself off. 

This had to be him. 

The stranger wore a weathered heavy coat of dark ankle length leather of the sort favored by highwaymen or experienced travelers. It hung from a broad shouldered frame with the casual ease of a garment that was both comfortable and familiar from long ownership. Beneath this he wore a loose shirt and dark pants, both travel stained and nondescript. He sported numerous pockets, pouches and straps, as well as a pack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Not a bureaucrat or a soldier then. Adventurer, maybe? Although bandit was still a possibility. The ash wastes out past the bulwark were already crawling with the sort. 

Fingerless gloves over long fingered hands mussed through his hair in an attempt to dislodge the ash. A silver amulet gleamed at his throat. Teldryn didn’t recognize the design. Something with magic? Blades hung easily at his belt. Longsword and dagger in scuffed battered scabbards. They’d seen a lot of use. Nothing too noteworthy about that. Except…Teldryn sat up straight. Was that…ebony?! 

Now that was something!

Teldryn continued his scan of the stranger’s appearance from behind his mask and goggles, staring without being seen. The details weren’t adding up. His clothes, pack, and bearing all said adventurer. The ebony blade said _successful_ adventurer. 

Successful adventurers didn’t come to places like Raven Rock.

The overgrown mop of hair, sandy brown and still bearing a visible dusting of ash, fell around the telltale pointed ears and the high slant of mer cheekbones. The face beneath the cloth he had tied makeshift around his nose and mouth appeared young, although with mer it could be hard to tell. Even being one himself, Teldryn could do no more than hazard a guess sometimes. Good looking. Medium olive skin and an elegant sloping brow over an unsettlingly keen gaze, now that he had stopped squinting and adjusted to the interior lighting. 

Staring right back at him. 

That gave Teldryn a start. Usually he sat here unnoticed, blending in, one of the reasons he had staked out this very spot. Behind his mask and goggles no one could tell what he was looking at, or even if his eyes were open. Well, this fellow must either have a great instinct for when someone was watching him, or he’d screwed up somehow and given himself away, and Teldryn didn’t think he’d screwed up. 

Unless…the stranger had noticed him noticing the blade he carried. Which was possible. Ebony was quite expensive and carrying a blade like that if you didn’t know what you were doing was just begging someone to try and take it off you. 

The stranger, still staring, started forward and Teldryn felt a prickle of alarm up the back of his neck, dropped one hand under the table, closer to his sword. Adrenaline started to slide through his belly and he shifted his weight forward over his feet in preparation to stand, but the stranger simply descended the stairs without a word. 

Feeling a bit foolish and shaken up, Teldryn let out a deep breath and sat back, chiding himself for the out of practice reaction. Still, this fellow was an interesting puzzle. 

And, maybe, an even more interesting opportunity. He would have to make sure he found a way to make introductions before the stranger headed back out.


	2. Side Tracked

They started their first working day together wandering around Raven Rock, which didn’t take too long. It wasn’t all that big of a place. Teldryn wasn’t much for playing tour guide but seeing as how he knew the area and Ceirin didn’t, it was just a part of his job.

“I’ve called Raven Rock my home for a number of years,” He sighed and shrugged as they trudged through drifts of ash up the steps to their last destination, to look out over the bulwark. “Azura knows why…It’s a mess.” 

From there the whole town sprawled out below them and they had a view of the beach stretching out to the east beyond. A guard walked by, ignoring them on his rounds.

“Hm. I live in Riften when I’m not traveling. No volcano, but it has a lake. ..and thieves.” Ceirin said the last bit with that joking little gleam in his eyes again. 

“I’m sure I’ve heard that.” Teldryn _had_ actually heard that from Glover Mallory. He was getting ready to ask if the altmer knew the blacksmith, when a flash of light from down the coast caught his eye.

“Did you see that?” The guard had come back to peer over the top of the bulwark with them. The three mer stood watching until more flashes confirmed it. Someone was fighting with fire spells. Several someones.

“Damned ash spawn.” Teldryn grumbled. He hated the freak things. Just rose up and came at you out of nowhere. They gave him the creeps.

“That’s out by the old Atrius place! The captain took a man out there ...” More flashes had the guard running back towards the barracks for reinforcements.

“We can get out there before he’s got his people organized.” Ceirin took the stairs down two at a time, Teldryn right behind him. 

Which was how they ended up racing through sand and ash out past the bulwark, vaulting some tangled scrubby vines of trama root and saving the day. Ceirin had nearly body slammed his first ash spawn, as it rose up from the ground directly in his path. Teldryn had gotten confirmation on one important factor during the fight; his employer definitely knew how to wield those blades. 

They got to the captain in time to keep him from being overwhelmed but the guard he’d taken with him had died. Upon their return, the mood in town that afternoon had become darker. 

Teldryn was relieved to be heading out of it for a while. Boredom was one thing but grief, especially for someone he hadn’t known, made things a bit uncomfortable. They had agreed to scout out the old fort that Captain Veleth had suggested as a possible point of origin for the ash spawn, following up on the note they had discovered on one of the bodies.

That made supplies their next priority. Milore Ienth asked them about possibly getting her some netch jelly if they were heading out into the wastes while they traded with her husband for food. Then they stopped by the blacksmiths to get their gear checked and had Mallory ask them about picking up some old pick axe from that old imperial. It was simple, just a few minutes of their time.

Crescius Caerellius was the only resident in Raven Rock still trying to fight the East Empire Company over their decision to pull funding from the mine due to something he claimed was a conspiracy against his family. He wrote angry letters. He complained to anyone who would listen. Teldryn had never considered that the old codger’s theory might have more to it, but Ceirin, who was just attracting all sorts of people today and all of them wanting something, seemed to think that the mine might be worth checking out.

Other than getting the old guy to give them the stupid axe to return to Glover, Teldryn couldn’t see why it might be worth doing. He was going to have some words for Glover about picking up his own stuff from now on. He didn’t make money by getting side tracked, and skills like his were going to waste if all they were going to do was run errands.

His employer asked good questions though, requesting a map and details about how deep the tunnels went, about the air quality and whether or not there were supplies stored anywhere. They had enough food and water with them for at least two days even though Crescius didn’t seem to think it would take them even half that time to clear the tunnels.

“Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?” Teldryn had to ask as they headed down into the cold tunnels stale with the reek of dry rot and rust. “People asking you for favors?” He added at the raised eyebrows turned back in his direction, wincing a bit when it came out sounding more sarcastic then he had meant for it to.

His fee had been paid, so he was obliged to follow along to do whatever his employer thought needed doing. He had just thought that after that fight this afternoon, things would’ve picked up a bit. Gotten more interesting. 

“Never used to be. But, yeah, now I get this a lot. I guess I have a flair for it.” The taller mer didn’t elaborate any further, but began cleaning spider webs off a locked and rusty old gate before trying the key they’d been given.

Teldryn hoped the gate would be rusted shut, but after some resistance, it opened and the gate stuttered inward with a shrill hair raising screech that echoed back up the tunnel behind them.

Some minutes later, Teldryn had to eat whatever doubts he’d had as to the wisdom of accepting this task.

“Alright. You did say you investigated odd things. This the sort of thing you meant?” Teldryn held the torch higher and looked around.

His employer glanced back at him and nodded. “This is exactly the kind of thing I meant.”

They were standing smack in the middle of an ancient Nord tomb. A big one, if the echoes and air currents were any indication. And unlooted by the look of it.

Ceirin was already kneeling in front of a chest tucked into an alcove along the dais, picks in hand. Teldryn stepped closer, curiosity winning out over caution. He kept an eye on the large draugr seated, unmoving, in one of two high backed chairs up on the platform while his boss worked on the lock. 

A soft but satisfying click sounded and both mer smiled to hear it.

Ceirin rummaged through the chest’s contents, discarding items of little worth. After a moment he selected a small pouch, peered inside, then tossed it to Teldryn who caught it in one hand.

“How’s that for running errands?” He asked, pocketing a few items himself.

Teldryn hefted the weight in his palm before checking inside. Gems. 

At least one sapphire and something pale that might have been a diamond along with several smaller pieces of various quality. His employer had just casually tossed him more wealth than he had earned in the previous six months combined! 

For a payout like this, he could get used to running errands.

When he looked back up to thank Ceirin, the chair on the dais was empty.


	3. Into the Frying Pan

Teldryn turned just in time to duck a sword aimed straight at his head. He hit the undead guardian with flames. Ceirin was moving in fast from behind, two sweeps of his blades and the draugr tumbled to the ground and stayed there, ancient cloth wrappings singed and smoking.

The spellsword lowered his hands and let out a breath.

“It looks like there are restless dead about.” He prodded the corpse with the toe of his boot to be sure.

“There must be more or the East Empire Company would’ve cleared them out when the miners broke in here originally.” The altmer mused, looking down the tunnel.

Teldryn nodded. “I suggest we proceed with caution.” He gestured for the altmer to lead ahead.

They continued deeper into the tomb, following a winding tunnel that led them past an abandoned alchemy lab and up a short flight of rubble strewn stairs and straight into a circular room surrounded by draugr.

Ceirin held out a hand to stop Teldryn from entering. They hadn’t awakened yet. Crouched in the dubious shelter of the doorway, the two held a hushed conference heavy with hand gestures before working out that Ceirin should use his bow to shoot as many as possible while Teldryn got ready to summon an atronach as their backup.

He watched as his employer set up, holding the arrows loosely in his hand as he drew and aimed for the closest of the draugr. He let the arrow fly. A neat shot through the throat. He took a breath but no alarm had been raised. The second shot took the next one. After the third one, the rest started to rise.

Teldryn drew his sword and sent his atronach into the room. Ceirin switched to his own blades and followed. The circular room rang with the sound of ebony against steel. The atronach kept a pair confused and out of the fight. Teldryn dispatched one and kicked away another. Ceirin had pressed forward and was about to engage what seemed to be the lead draugr when an immense noise filled the room and Teldryn was thrown backwards into the wall.

He shook himself and scrambled to pick up the sword he’d dropped. Ceirin yelled to him in warning and he threw himself into a roll, sensing a blade sweep close to his leg. He came up to his feet and thrust out blindly, stabbing the attacking draugr high in the chest. He pulled his blade back and brought it around in an arc, taking its head off just above the shoulders.

Ceirin had downed the last one. Teldryn let the atronach fade back to its own realm, its services no longer needed. His employer approached him and turned him to check the back of his helmet.

“Are you alright? I heard it when you hit.” He ran his hands over the back of the helmet, checking for damage.

“I’m fine. It’ll take more than a draugr to…Hey, what’re you..?” Teldryn was aware now that his neck felt tight like maybe he’d pulled something and his head did feel a bit sore. But not enough to be worth mentioning. He wasn’t about to give up now that this little adventure had gotten good over a few bumps and bruises.

“Teldryn, this is cracked.” Ceirin had started picking at a spot with his fingernail. The sound from inside the helmet raised the hair on the back of Teldryn’s neck.

“Come on, off with it. I need to check to make sure this didn’t go through.”

Reluctantly, Teldryn undid the helmet’s clasps and slowly pulled it up and away from his face, yanking the goggles and cloth down to hang around his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, which had no doubt been flattened, and blinked owlishly in the cool tomb air as his eyes adjusted.

He flinched and forced himself to stand still while long altmer fingers turned him and probed the bruise that was already forming near the back of his head.

“Its fine, boss. Really.” He turned the helmet in his hands to frown in dismay at the cracked material. 

“Possibly a mild concussion.” Ceirin dug through his pack for a moment and tossed him a small healing potion.

Teldryn downed the potion, more to appease his employer than because his head hurt, while Ceirin investigated a locked chest in a corner. He tucked the damaged helmet away in his own pack, hoping Glover would be able to repair it. 

Four broken picks and several colorfully muttered curses later and the chest was open. Some more small pocketable riches, which they split, and a large leather covered shield neither of them wanted to carry.

They proceeded through the door on the far side and down the hallway, which led them to a trap. 

Lightning arced and jolted between two soul gems. The floor and walls were black with searing. The two mer looked at one another.

“Ideas?” Teldryn didn’t like the odds of just barreling through it.

But when he turned to look, his employer had jogged back to the room they had just left. He returned with the shield in hand. 

“It’s made of wood.” He grinned at Teldryn’s questioning look. _“Dry wood.”_

Using the shield as cover, he was able to disarm both gems. He tossed it aside after and they continued around a bend and down a long flight of stairs to a level flooded with agonizingly cold ground water. The space it opened out onto was narrow and high with a water fall pouring in at the far end.

Some exploring of the upper levels led them to a room with a locked gate. Ceirin found the lever on the other side but all that turned out to be inside was a circular chamber with a book of magic on a pedestal.

“Ice spike. You want it?” Ceirin held the book out to him.

“Hey...Boss?” A thought had occurred to Teldryn as he took the book to sell later. He already knew the spell. “I haven’t noticed you using any spells. You haven’t got anything against magic, do you?” 

It made more sense to have hired him to handle that if the altmer had a problem with it. The taller mer didn’t answer right away and when Teldryn looked back up at him, he was surprised to see an almost guilty expression on his face.

“Ah...You won’t see me use it. Nothing against it, it’s just that, uh…I um, I can’t.” He had flushed in embarrassment, suddenly looking around the room everywhere but at Teldryn.

“You can’t?” The spellsword couldn’t fathom not being able to use magic.” Aren’t altmer supposed to be…?” 

Ceirin sighed heavily. “Yes. I know. I’ve heard it all before. I know a lot of spells. I just can’t cast them. I, um, I don’t have enough magicka. ” He chewed his lip as he admitted the last part in a rush.

“You don’t…? Not even a flame spell?” Teldryn couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Sorry. Not unless you want me to be dizzy, exhausted, and useless for the rest of the day.” Ceirin had crossed his arms over his chest and looked troubled.

Teldryn let it drop after that. They headed together up a ramp and across a walkway that lead them…back across the waterfall where they had entered?

“Not that I’m an expert, but the few Nord tombs I’ve been in before weren’t so..?” Teldryn trailed off, waving a hand out to indicate all of it. 

“Circuitous?” Ceirin offered. “Switch backed?” 

Teldryn hmmed in agreement, nodding.

“No, you’re right. There is usually an outer series of rooms and then a main chamber and that’s it.” Ceirin stopped, looking back the way they had come with a frown.

“Problem?” Teldryn’s eyebrows rose, creasing the tattoos around his eyes.

Ceirin blew out a long breath in thought and then explained. “They built it like this on purpose. Whoever is buried at the end of this must have been seriously important. Or powerful.”

“Important sounds good. But how do you figure that?”

“They didn’t want anything getting in…or out.” Ceirin shrugged and continued forward.

“….getting out…?” Teldryn thought again of the draugr, shook his head, and followed along behind.

The hallway wound up to a dead end with a closet that held little interest other than a chest. They opted to explore the side passage instead of head back. Cold wind rushed through the narrow chasm as they pushed ahead. Ceirin came to a stop so abruptly that Teldryn walked right into him. 

Both mer stood and simply stared out into the vast chamber that opened past the ledge before them, a natural volcanic stone cavern that echoed with the roar of water.

Twin waterfalls framed an immense unnatural door made of some dark material at the far end. Ceirin saw a path down and along the side and started down, turning to hang by his fingers before dropping to the next lower ledge until he could edge his way carefully along the side above the rushing black torrent of water below.

Teldryn followed, refusing to let his knees give out at the fear of falling and concentrated on placing his feet where Ceirin had. They crossed behind one of the falls, the cold spray refreshing on their faces, and came out on the central platform in front of the door.

Several bodies lay about the steps in dark stains of old blood. A burned out lantern… and some papers…a book and an odd looking sword…? 

“This is it.” Ceirin had already lifted the book and was scanning its contents. “This is Gratian Caerellius”

“We found proof.” He sounded almost awed.

The door turned out to be magical and since neither mer could open it straight away, they opted to take a break.

They sat on what Ceirin referred to as the ‘front porch’ and ate; food and water going a long way to restoring their mood. 

Between the journal and the sword, they were eventually able to figure out the door. However, when the doors opened the first chamber they stepped into ended in a blade trap.

“Oh, you have got to kidding me.” Teldryn was ready for fresh air and daylight again.

“Just walk.” Ceirin was headed straight into the trap.

“What?!” Teldryn demanded.

“…Or, wait there.” Ceirin bowed and turned and…walked right through three sets of swinging blades like they weren’t even there. When he got to the end he threw a lever and the whole thing stopped.

Teldryn waited a moment to collect himself before ducking and weaving through and around the locked blades.

The door beyond that opened onto a short hallway at the end of which they could see another large chamber filled with water. At the far end a figure seemed to drift about in front of an enormous carved wall. Although it could have been a trick of the light. Teldryn couldn’t tell if it was a draugr or not.

Ceirin hunkered down in the doorway and motioned for Teldryn to join him.

“Have you ever fought a Dragon Priest?” His question wouldn’t have alarmed Teldryn except that he hadn’t heard the title before now and his employer was looking a bit pale.

“No, but I take it you have.” Teldryn kept his eye on the room before them.

The altmer nodded and took a steadying breath. “Remember when I said they didn’t want anything powerful to get out?”

Teldryn nodded.

“That would be why. Dragon Priests are some of the most powerful mages ever to exist.”

“The water is going to complicate things. My flame atronach can’t cross it.” Teldryn took another look into the room ahead. “No cover either.”

“Send the atronach in anyway. We can split up and head down either side of the water. While the atronach is taking hits, we hit back with everything we’ve got.” Ceirin dug in his pack and pressed several healing potions into Teldryn’s hands.

They both took steadying breathes. Ceirin looked at him intensely. “Ready?”

He nodded. 

They both surged up and out into the room, Teldryn casting the atronach just ahead.


	4. And Add to the Fire

Teldryn spent the entire battle trying not to die. It was by far his worst fight since declining suicide by bandit years ago back in Skyrim. He had never heard of Dragon Priests before, but he would never forget the title afterwards.

The creature drifted, quick and calm, over the water and to all ends of the chamber, blasting them with the most intense spells as they rushed from the cover of the doorway.

The atronach hardly lasted before it crumbled under an onslaught of magical energy.

Teldryn and Ceirin slogged and flailed about in the bitter water, half drowned, and fought with the brutal desperation of mer about to die. 

Finally, by some miracle, they managed to wear the creature down just as they ran out of healing potions and it slumped to the ground in a heap of moldered robes and corpse dust.

Teldryn sank down where he was, half in the water and half out, to catch his breath. 

Ceirin, however, staggered over to get a closer look at the curve of wall where jagged symbols were etched floor to ceiling, one end to the other. 

Once he focused on it, Teldryn realized there was a deep thrum of magical energy coming from it, but no sooner had Ceirin gotten close, than it vanished. Too exhausted to be curious, Teldryn stayed where he was until Ceirin came back and offered him a hand up. 

They took the priest’s staff which was now drained, emptied the chest, picked up their packs, and headed out through the only remaining corridor. They stopped momentarily to stash an old and nightmarish looking book into Ceirin’s pack to try and sell later.

Teldryn flat out refused to touch it. 

Something about it felt wrong. The room it was in looked different and he thought he heard a low growling noise even though they were alone. 

Ceirin didn’t disagree about the nature of the book, but he pointed out that it was magical, old, possibly rare, and should therefore be worth a lot to the right buyer.

Teldryn kept the ‘hearing things’ part to himself. After how Ceirin had fussed over him hitting his head earlier, the last thing he needed was for the altmer to think his skull had been cracked to the point of affecting his reason. 

“Shall we?” Ceirin gestured to the exit up the stairs.

“Lead on.” Teldryn nodded, ready to be out of this place.

The long spiral staircase had their already fatigued legs aching, but it was the sound of voices as they approached the top had them stopping. 

Ceirin listened for a moment, cocking his head at Teldryn as if to ask what was going on. 

Teldryn shrugged. He had long since lost track of where they might be. Other than knowing they were miles off from the mines where they had entered. He had no idea who else might be wherever it was that they were.

They drew their blades and moved around the partition.

Teldryn realized a second before Ceirin did that they should have been more careful. 

Reavers. 

They fought through four of them as they pushed forward. Furniture was knocked over, curses and screams of dying men echoed off the walls. Exhaustion made them sloppy and only the element of surprise kept them from being outnumbered while they ran for the door. 

Daylight seemed overwhelming after the long dark of subterranean tombs lit only by scant torch light. Blinking against watering eyes despite the overcast sky, they headed out onto a series of narrow high bridges that connected the several towers which overlooked the sea.

The architecture was defensive and so was their response as a cry of alarm went up from the lookouts. In moments, the whole host of Reavers inhabiting the ruins was after them. 

They got as far as the second bridge out over the surging tide, ducking low to avoid arrows the whole way, before a group came up from the second tower and cut them off. 

“Can you swim?” Ceirin asked as they flinched away from more incoming arrow strikes before he turned and fired back. 

“What?!” Teldryn flung fire at a Reaver who dared to get too close. He ignored the spinning sensation that warned him he had pushed his magicka reserves enough for one day.

“Can you swim?” He repeated.

“Yes! Why?” Teldryn wondered what in Oblivion swimming had to do with anything. 

“It might be relevant.” Ceirin muttered. 

He grabbed Teldryn by the collar and with a powerful shove of his long altmer legs, sent them both over the edge and plummeting toward the surf below.

They washed up on a quiet strand of beach just west of the town. Two miles or so of relatively easy walking if one liked overgrown black sand beaches and the occasional netch. 

Teldryn coughed out brackish seawater until he could take a breath without it catching in his chest. 

He dragged himself up and checked on Ceirin who was slumped over on a large piece of driftwood, shivering. 

They needed to get moving, to get indoors, or the chill would finish them. 

“You fetcher! Are you trying to get us killed?!” Teldryn picked a wad of seaweed out of his hair with a snarl and flung it down to land with a dull splat onto the sand. 

“You’re welcome.” The sarcastic response came as a rough whisper, Ceirin’s throat stripped raw from the salt water.

He reached for Ceirin’s arm to haul him up and get moving but stopped short when he realized that the liquid dripping onto the sand wasn’t water. 

Or at least, wasn’t all water.

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Lucky hit. Just as we went over the railing” Ceirin still sounded hoarse but somewhat stronger which Teldryn took to be a good sign. The arrow had torn loose when they’d hit the water.

Everything in their packs was drenched or washed away altogether. Teldryn pulled the cloth off from around his neck, wrung it out, and packed it against his employer’s shoulder as best he could. 

He had never claimed to be a healer. Served him right for that crazy stunt, anyway.

They got moving and started the long walk back to town in the failing light. It was dark by the time they came around the point and began heading east, the warm glow of Raven Rock’s lanterns guiding their steps. 

“What is that?” Ceirin was looking off towards the old standing stone out on the point where a small group had gathered in the torch light.

“I don’t know. Can it wait until tomorrow?” Teldryn fought back a yawn and gestured for Ceirin to keep walking.

It was late when they staggered back into town. They parted ways, with Ceirin heading off to get his shoulder treated, and Teldryn to get them food and beds. 

It wasn’t until later that they found out that they had been gone for the better part of two days.


	5. Sleepwalking

After a day of rest while waiting for their things to dry, they were back out into the ash wastes.

Ceirin finally got to the heart of what had brought him this far north in the first place.

“I’m looking for information on someone named Miraak.”

“You might try asking the captain when we get back. Makes it his business to know what everyone is up to in Raven Rock.” Teldryn replied. 

The pair had been hiking down the slope back in the direction of Raven Rock. They had cleared the old Imperial fort of ash spawn and were heading in to give their report to Captain Veleth.

Teldryn hoped it would get the guards to back off. When their little detour in the mines had cost them days, Veleth had seemed to think it might mean they were unreliable. He had been breathing down their necks waiting for results ever since. It had been a matter of professional pride that they cleared his job next. At least it had been more straight forward than the mines. If necromantic experiments gone wrong were ever straight forward...

Except when they did talk to Captain Veleth and had a chance to ask, his response was…odd. To say the least.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around town asking everyone else they could find in search of some detail that would point them in the right direction. At the end of which they were more confused than they had been to start. They continued until evening when they regrouped at the Netch for dinner.

It had certainly sounded simple enough. _Miraak_. When Ceirin had brought it up, he had thought the name seemed familiar. He figured he had overheard it somewhere. Somebody had to know it. And everyone had seemed to. Only no one could explain it.

Everyone they had spoken to had given the same non answer. Almost word for word. By the time they had heard it for the fifth time, Teldryn had felt as if his skin were crawling. He couldn’t shake the feeling this was all a bad dream and any second now he’d be walking into the Netch to buy rounds for everyone only to discover he was in his underclothes before waking up in his own bed feeling foolish.

He pushed his clam chowder around his bowl, scowling.

He didn’t even look up when Ceirin set two mugs of ashfire mead on the table and settled in with his own bowl. 

“What’s our next move?” He asked, prodding at a chunk of clam with his spoon. “How do we track someone who has the whole town brainwashed?”

“He attacked me. And he didn’t have to. He wanted to be found.” Ceirin reasoned around a mouthful of food.

“Anyway, let me see your hands for a minute?”

Teldryn stopped with a spoonful of chowder halfway to his mouth. _What?_

He paused long enough for Ceirin to raise his eyebrows expectantly. Huffing out an irritated sigh, Teldryn set his spoon down again and held his hands out. Ceirin grasped them and turned towards the firelight to look at the backs of his knuckles and at his fingers. 

“How did you get this?” A long altmer finger tapped gently at a scrape on one knuckle. “And this?” There was also a small cut on one finger and bruise beneath the fingernail. _As if he had smashed it somehow. When had he…?_

His expression must have revealed more than he meant for it to because Ceirin nodded and held out his own hands. Teldryn saw the similar injuries on them. 

“I don’t remember getting any of these. I also noticed that everyone we talked to today, at least whose hands I could see, had the same thing.” 

“Sheogorath’s madness!” Teldryn pull his hands back as he felt cold panic beginning to take hold. _What was going on?_

“Well, we have time.” Ceirin shrugged and went back to his chowder, motioning for Teldryn to do the same.

The spellsword stared at his employer. “How are you so sure of that?” 

“These aren’t more than a day or two old. We both had healing potions before then. So, whatever this is it’s only just started. And it didn’t kill anyone or imprison us.” He motioned with his spoon for emphasis. “Whatever this is, it wants us to do something for it. So we have time.”

“Alright.” Teldryn took a deep breath and considered Ceirin’s trail of thought. He couldn’t find fault with the logic. “What do you think is happening?” 

“We’ve spent the last couple of days around each other. Have I wandered off or started acting strangely?”

Teldryn shook his head and forced himself to eat some chowder. He wrinkled his nose at the room temperature and starting-to-congeal texture of it.

“Neither have you.” Ceirin sipped at his drink and continued, “When is the only time we’ve been out of each other’s sight these last few days?” 

“When we’re asleep.” Teldryn realized. He picked up the slab of bread next to his bowl and began tearing it into pieces, dunking them into his cooled chowder. 

“How are you at stake outs?” Ceirin asked. 

Teldryn did his best to finish eating quickly. 

They spent the next several hours sitting up on top of the bulwark in the dark, wrapped in blankets with their backs to the wall, watching, and sipping stamina potions and hot tea to stay awake. The guard on patrol ignored them, stepping over their outstretched legs at every pass.

They watched folk head home for the night, lights twinkling in the windows below. The streets cleared out. Then it was just them and the guard.

Gradually lanterns burned out for the night and windows went dark. Raven Rock went to sleep.

It was a quiet clear night. The clouds slid away as the moons rose up and shone out over the bay, shimmering softly on the water. Waves lapped against the docks. Boat moorings creaked.

Somewhere out in the moonlit remains of the forest behind them, an owl hooted, low and lonesome. The sound sent a shiver down Teldryn’s spine. He inhaled cold night air scented with ash and cedar, pulled his blanket closer around for warmth and continued staring out over the town.

He shifted uncomfortably; his hindquarters had gone numb from sitting so long. Ceirin nodded in his blankets, chin to his chest. He gradually slumped over until he slid to a stop, propped and drooling, against Teldryn's shoulder. 

_“How are you at stake outs?” Amateur._ The spellsword rolled his eyes, exasperated over his young employer’s state, and poked at him. No answer. He jabbed harder. A mumble and a sleepy attempt to retreat from the source of discomfort was the only response.

Teldryn sighed, hauled back and elbowed Ceirin in the ribs.

“Ah!…What?!….what? I’m awake.” The altmer scrambled upright, scrubbed his hands over his face, and yawned. “Sorry.” He at least had the decency to look mortified. 

“Hey, boss?” Teldryn bumped a hand against Ceirin’s shoulder as he leaned out to look past him, suddenly having noticed something. “Where’s the guard?” 

The bulwark was empty except for them.

Both mer were alert then and kept quiet as they came to their feet. The sound of a door slamming somewhere made them both jump. 

Dark shapes where moving between the buildings.

The night became even more surreal as they followed the seemingly sleepwalking residents down the road and out to the point where they gathered to work on the old standing stone, chanting monotone nonsense while they toiled with rocks and chisels.

Only one dunmer appeared unaffected. The old Telvanni wizard, who lived in seclusion on the eastern shores of the island, was there in true wizarding fashion to observe and record while not interfering. The only help they got from him was mention of an old ruin up in the mountains not far from the Skaal village off the eastern coast.

It was the only lead they had to go on.

Since there was nothing they could presently do for the townsfolk, they stopped back at the Netch to pack up supplies. After some debate, they left a note for Geldis, explaining what they had taken and where they were going. 

They headed out, following the shoreline east by moonlight.

After several miles, they turned inland, following the Iggnir River up into the highlands that made up the north, central, and eastern sections of Solstheim. The temperature dropped and the wind picked up, blowing drifts of ash across their line of sight, as they left the sheltered southern coast behind. 

Goggles on and scarves up over their faces, they kept climbing. There wasn’t a road to follow. More of a rough game trail that hunters used to access the interior of the island if they wanted to avoid the snow clad peaks and passes to the west. Sea eagles wheeled and soared above the sparkling waters, fishing for their breakfast, as the sun came up. 

As morning wore on, the wind died back and the temperature came up. By the time they stopped for breakfast in a sheltered glen surrounded by scruffy plants and the tumble down skeletons of massive old growth evergreens half buried under old pyroclastic debris, it was almost pleasant.

They would have to camp for a few nights round trip, but they should reach the ruins by evening tomorrow if the weather held. The rest would depend on what they found there.


	6. Lost or Found

“So how much farther off do you think this place is?” He couldn’t resist baiting his traveling companion some more. He had found that Ceirin’s reactions were predictable, and often entertaining. He had also grown bored of his earlier game of trying to guess the altmer’s age.

Ceirin just glared at him and went back to studying the map.

It had taken a while for Teldryn to figure out that Ceirin was lost. At first it was the slower pace. Then it was the way he kept checking the map. After that, it was the fallen tree they had passed by. Four times.

Ceirin’s mood had been getting steadily worse. They had spent icy, damp nights tossing and turning on the rocky uneven ground. It had been a while since Teldryn had been required to sleep outdoors. He had been embarrassed to realize how badly he missed sleeping in a bed. It would have made him feel unprofessional, except Ceirin seemed to be even more unaccustomed to it than he was. 

Despite the chill of the higher elevations, this morning had dawned clear and calm. The ash had settled and visibility was high. It would have been an ideal day for hiking. If only they knew where they were going. 

Ceirin brandished the map again and waved Teldryn over. 

“This is the mountain peak just there.” He pointed and Teldryn agreed, nodding.

“And this is where we left the river and headed north.” Ceirin traced a line with his finger, following their progress. 

Another nod.

“Then the ruins should be right there.” He gestured out past the line of trees to the bare rocky hillside ahead. There was nothing visible anywhere in their line of sight except more wilderness.

“What’s the scale on this?” Teldryn tried measuring the distances between his finger and thumb.

“…I don’t know. I assumed that wizard marked it correctly.” Ceirin’s face fell and he muttered a curse under his breath.

“Well, boss, either that map is wrong or we are.” Teldryn shrugged. Sighing, he settled down on a sun bleached boulder to wait until Ceirin decided on the direction. He figured if they had come out this far they might as well head out a bit farther. 

The altmer turned about, looking back the way they had come, then at the hillside ahead. A few more minutes went by before he swore succinctly and gave up. He trudged over to where Teldryn sat, dropping his pack and shoving the map back inside one of the pockets.

As he rose to stand again, he stopped, his expression shifting from frustration to confusion. 

“Teldryn, what is that you are sitting on?” 

“It’s a rock. What of it?” Teldryn wondered what kind of question that was.

Ceirin moved the branches of a shrub out of the way, leaned a bit to look down the side, and looked back up at the spellsword. “Rocks do not have eye sockets.”

The dragon’s skull was partially buried in ash and some scraggly low bushes, but once they uncovered the outline, it couldn’t be anything else.

Following backward from the neck, Ceirin spotted some vertebrae and part of a scapula. They walked down the length of the skeleton, dodging branches and peering under bushes. Until they found another skull, part of the wing bones still nearby. And another. Scrambling out of the tree line, they followed the bones, crossed around the side of the hill, and stopped. 

There were at least a dozen skeletons scattered about the landscape. Teldryn tried, and failed, to picture what catastrophic event could have killed a dozen dragons and left their bones to the elements for ages untold.

The two mer wandered speechless through the bone field until they came across the remains of an ancient roadway.

Teldryn didn’t think the day could take on any more ominous aspects, but when the immense temple rose into view at the top of the road, he reconsidered. The sound of monotonous chanting drifted out across to where they stood and told them all they needed to know. 

They had found the ruins that might lead them to Miraak. As they ascended the steps and looked out over the massive amphitheater full of people, Teldryn hoped they had a plan.

In the midst of all of the people diligently working, one woman rushed about, calling names, shaking shoulders, trying to break through to those around her. She stopped when she noticed their approach.

“You there. Why have you come here?” She demanded, striding towards them. Teldryn and Ceirin exchanged a look. She wasn’t showing any of the same signs of enslavement as all these others, but that didn’t mean she was an ally.

Teldryn dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword. Ceirin had his hands held out away from his blades. 

“We just heard about these ruins and came up to explore, that’s all.” Ceirin’s answered. There was something about the way he said it. It was steady and meant to pacify, but Teldryn could have sworn he could feel an undercurrent of _something_ in the sound that wasn’t there normally. 

Whatever it was, it worked. 

The woman, who introduced herself as Frea, relaxed a bit and explained she had been trying to rescue the people from her village who had fallen under the sway of the temple. She called it a curse. It was somehow tied to the standing stones scattered around the island, the largest of which was in the center of the amphitheater.

“Raven Rock has this same trouble. We were hoping to find some answers.” Ceirin added.

“My father Storn, our shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible.” Her brow creased as she shook her head in consternation. 

“Your father is right. This Miraak tried to have me killed. I would like to know why.” The altmer looked down at her, his shoulders back and arms folded over his chest.

It occurred to Teldryn that his employer could be a commanding presence when he wanted to be. There was a hard look in his eyes. Frea seemed to weigh that for a moment before replying.

“Then we both have reason to see what lies beneath.” Frea offered carefully.

The spellsword’s eyes widened behind his goggles. Was she offering to aid them? Eyeing the large axe slung across her back, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. But three didn’t even the odds enough for his liking. Heart pounding, he realized he would have to say something.

He grabbed Ceirin’s arm and pulled him aside.

“You mean to go with her?”

“This is what we came here for.” Ceirin nodded.

“Look at the size of this place! You have no idea what’s down there.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his words. This was starting to feel like three days to a bandit camp before turning his back and walking away in order to survive, all over again.

“What else would you suggest? I know I said we had time, but we don’t know how much. This ruin looks a lot further along than that stone outside town.”

Teldryn’s stomach sank. He had noticed that, too. 

“Given the size of this place? We need more than three people. We could go back, get some of the others….” Teldryn knew as the words left his mouth it wouldn’t work.

Ceirin was shaking his head.

“That’s going to take too long. Its two to three days out and then a day to get everyone organized, maybe two, and then more days back? This place could be finished by then. We don’t know how many of the other stones are done already.”

“We’re here now, we go now. We do the best we can to stop this.” Ceirin had such an obstinate look on his face, Teldryn wanted to punch him.

_Why were all his employers insane?_

Adventure, he could handle. Certain death was not what he had signed on for.

“You’re crazy if you think going down there is any kind of plan!” 

Ceirin stared at his boots for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line. The scars across them stood out in pale lines. After some thought, he blew out a long breath and looked at Teldryn.

“You’re right, Teldryn.” He nodded. 

The dunmer felt his shoulders relax. _Thank Azura!_ Ceirin was going to listen. They were going to come up with something, an actual plan that wasn’t suicide...

“I don’t know what’s down there. This isn’t a plan.” The altmer shrugged, “I have been making this up as I go along. I have been doing that since….well, long before I came to Solstheim. Before I came to Skyrim, even. And I have lived through all of that, so far.”

Teldryn felt hot rage building in his chest. He clenched his teeth. _Fool. Idiot. Fetcher. Outlander!_

“But,” His employer continued, “I do understand that this is outside your contract. Whatever is down there will be worse than the mines. I am not going to ask you, or order you, or expect you, to come along. I have to do this. That is no reason for you to.” 

Ceirin handed him a coin purse. Judging by the weight it held a couple hundred septims. _Severance pay._

“You’re going ahead without me?!” Teldryn felt like the air had been punched out of his chest. _Ceirin was terminating their contract?_ It was three days back to Raven Rock. He could make it, maybe, if he didn’t run into too many ash spawn, but he didn’t relish the thought of traveling across the ash wastes alone. Their odds were worsened as well, down one to only two of them against….whatever.

Teldryn looked around at all the people working. _If they turned hostile…._ And all the people back in Raven Rock who were in the same state…

“Sheogorath’s madness take you!” He shouted at Ceirin’s retreating back. “You won’t last ten minutes.”

He watched the two disappear down a narrow staircase to whatever battles awaited in the lower levels. 

“S’wit! Arrogant son of a netch.” Pacing, he cursed out loud. None of the people working on the temple reacted. Not that he had expected them to.

He grabbed his pack and stomped back down to the road, pausing to get his bearings before storming off in the direction of Raven Rock. As soon as he got back he would head to the docks and make the crossing to Windhelm. 

Maybe it was time he returned to Blacklight for a while; took some time to figure things out. 

Yeah. That’s what he’d do. Head down, he kept walking and refused to look back.


	7. Waking Nightmares

Teldryn kicked a rock viciously out of his path and took a petty satisfaction in the sound it made clattering over the wind swept cobbles and cracking into one of the dragon skulls. It knocked the skull loose to settle lower in the weeds, canted at a forlorn angle. The empty sockets stared at him accusingly.

He stopped and looked back at the spires of the temple behind him. It was just his imagination, he was sure.

Guilt made his stomach ache. He never knew gold could weigh so heavily.

What kind of reputation was he going to have? The mercenary who bailed out whenever things got too dangerous? The bodyguard who outlived all his patrons? Once _that_ rumor got around, he’d never get hired again. 

He and Ceirin had been working well together. The altmer was a talented fighter, a quick thinker, and he had a great eye for treasure. Valuables in general, really. He had been thinking that a longer term contract might have been in order.

He knew Ceirin wasn’t suicidal. A risk taker, to be sure, but a good sort overall.

And all these people. Geldis, Glover, Bralsa, the people he’d lived and worked and drank alongside for years, all turned into mindless slaves for this Miraak’s purpose. Himself, too, though he did his best to block that out. If that thing could get into his head , how far could he really run? What would happen when they were no longer needed? 

He pictured Raven Rock, dust and dark buildings, full of skeletons, ash drifting in to bury them all. No less devastating than the worst that Red Mountain could dish out. Dunmer knew how to survive dark times. It was what they excelled at. This was different. No one could fight against a volcano or any other force of nature, but here there was a mind at work, a being who could be fought.

No. Ceirin and Frea were right. Stopping this Miraak, before he took over the whole island, was the only option.

Snarling obscenities, he tightened his pack and tore full speed back up the road.

By the time he descended into the cool silent innards of the temple, there was a rather extensive trail of bodies to follow. Open doors, open chests, disarmed traps; all pointed the way for him. Clearly, he had been wrong about those ten minutes.

He noticed some of the draugr wore heavier armor. Weapons lay scattered about, discarded, useless…ebony?!

There were ebony blades, just left behind. A fortunes worth. His fingers twitched to feel what the balance of a blade like that would be like in his hands. No, no time. He couldn’t risk getting weighed down. If they survived this, they could come back to get them. 

He continued through the temple, checking corners just in case and jumping at shadows. The place was a labyrinth. He remembered Ceirin’s comment about keeping the powerful undead inside their tombs, and broke into a sweat as a fresh wave of anxiety swept over him. He quickened his pace.

He caught up to them just as they were finishing up with an all too familiar series of blade traps. 

Frea jumped, startled by his appearance.

“He just….” She gestured to the end of the room, visible in patches through the line of now still blades. Judging by the expression on Frea’s face, Ceirin had pulled the same stunt on her that Teldryn had witnessed back in the mine. 

“Yeah. He does that.” Sudden awkward silence made him aware that Ceirin, who had been busy securing the lever on the far side, had yet to notice his arrival.

He took a deep breath, walked over to the altmer, and clearing his throat for attention, held out the coin purse to him. Ceirin looked briefly shocked to see him, but he covered it quickly.

“You needn’t look so surprised.” He glanced away from the altmer’s wide and somewhat wary gaze.

“I may not be the first to volunteer whenever a hero or a martyr is needed, but I’m no coward, either. If you still want to cancel our contract, we can talk about it afterward.” He shrugged. 

Ceirin didn’t move.

Amber eyes studied him for a long moment, a faint spark of something glinting there. The silence stretched by until it was just getting Teldryn to the point of needing to fidget from nerves when Ceirin reached a hand up and took the coins back, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. 

“Glad to have you back.” It was spoken so quietly that Teldryn knew he was the only one who heard it. Frea had been keeping a polite distance away to avoid overhearing them. When Ceirin inclined his head towards the door, she rejoined them. The three of them then proceeded down the tunnel and deeper into the complex.

“Let us hope that is the last of those traps.” The Skaal woman spoke a little too loudly, her low voice echoing off the halls around them. 

They made it through the next series of hidden passages to a large open section where a cultist stood waiting for them across the way. As they ran toward the stairs a dart trap activated and sent them diving to the floor until the clicking sound told them it was empty. Three ramps dropped down and they separated without a word, each heading up one and working together to back the cultist up against the door he had been guarding. As he died, a draugr stepped out of the shadows. The same deafening noise sounded. 

Trying to get in close enough to cut at it without ending up in its line of fire proved difficult, but as Frea dropped to her knees under guard to shelter from its shout, Teldryn managed to step around and stabbed it. They took a few minutes to make sure no one was injured, check the bodies, and haul the cultist away from the door.

When they were ready to continue, Ceirin motioned for Frea to go ahead, but held Teldryn back a minute. 

“That draugr had this on him. I figured you would put it to better use.” He handed Teldryn the sword he had looted. The ebony sword. Teldryn held the blade carefully, not knowing what to say. At a ‘get on with it’ sort of gesture from Ceirin he walked through a series of cuts with it. It felt brilliant. Light and quick and like it wanted to cut. 

“Now we have a chance.” He grinned.

“Well, if I knew you were going to be an ass about it…” Ceirin’s sarcasm didn’t echoed as badly as Frea’s nervous energy had. The altmer rolled his eyes and they headed after her.

They found her standing at the foot of a covered walkway. Covered in the bound skeletal remains of torture victims. Cages hung from the ceiling on either side.

“All these poor souls…” She murmured.

“I had been told that the dragon cults were some of the most vicious in history. That was the main reason people rebelled, but seeing this... is….” Ceirin shook his head, at a loss for words.

They hurried across and did their best not to touch anything until they got to the other side. By silent mutual agreement, the sooner they got out of this place, the better they would all feel.

They appeared to have left the footprint of the old temple and passed under the earth into a completely separate and even more ancient ruin. Stairs and catacombs hewn roughly from the bedrock around them fell away into darkness below. 

As they approached, the undead rose to meet them. With three it was much easier to set up their defense. Frea met the advance with her axe. Ceirin kept his sword and dagger whirling in quick parries and repelled any that got past her one woman war zone. Teldryn hit the back ranks with flame and ice spells and sent them tumbling. By the time the room had been cleared, they were gasping for breath, the stairs littered with draugr and bits of bone, as the last of the ice spike spells began to melt away. 

At the bottom of a steep narrow stair they stumbled through the doorway and then into each other at the sight of a dragon skeleton hanging from the ceiling over a platform lined with sarcophagi. 

“All Maker, protect us.” Frea’s soft prayer pretty well summed it up in Teldryn’s opinion. Something felt odd about the place, an undercurrent of energy he couldn’t place. He wondered if the skeleton would come to the defense of this place like the rest of the undead.

Ceirin looked back at both of them. 

“Whatever you do, stay behind me.” He waited until they each nodded. Then he stepped into the room, not to the sarcophagi, or towards the skeleton, but to their left. To another of those curved walls with symbols carved on them. This time, Teldryn knew he wasn’t imagining it. Ceirin approached the wall, the energy surged, and then…it was _pulled?_ Into Ceirin. 

“Boss, what did you …..?”

“Something feels wrong. Brace yourselves!” Frea’s warning coincided with the sudden tremor that shook the whole room. Rocks and dust crashed down. The skeleton swayed and creaked. All the sarcophagi crashed open. 

Teldryn lost track of what happened after that. The thunderous sounds of shouts, the crackling rush of the atronach, blades striking other blades or into flesh. He got tossed about in the concussive wave of one draugr and took a wicked cut to his shoulder, the blade finding its way under his pauldron and slicing through the leather gambeson beneath. 

As he pulled his blade up through a parry, he caught sight of a massive gout of flame striking several of the draugr and spinning them to the floor to gutter out. His atronach hadn’t done that…He returned a cut and made sure the draugr wasn’t getting up again.

Frea ‘s axe finished the last one and they both turned to Ceirin.

“What was the…”

“You said you couldn’t cast…”

Ceirin took a breath to answer and immediately doubled over coughing. He turned away, his eyes watering, an arm up over his mouth.

But not before Teldryn saw the smoke. 

“You can shout! That was a shout, like what they did, only you did it with fire!” Frea sounded almost giddy. “I did not know anyone but the Nords studied such things.”

As soon as Ceirin could breathe again, he managed a nod.

“I.. try… to avoid it.” His voice was horrible. A hoarse whisper that sounded like it hurt. It sent him into another coughing fit.

“You are dragonborn! That must be why Miraak considers you a threat.” She looked proud of herself.

“He’s what? Don’t be ridiculous.” Teldryn had no idea what the explanation was, but he wasn’t about to turn to ancient Nord legends. He had had quite enough of those already and they weren’t out of the ruins yet. Except…Except Ceirin wasn’t denying it.

“How did you know?” His employers tone was resigned.

“We Skaal have legends older than those of the Nords in Skyrim. In our stories, Miraak was a dragon priest who turned against them. He must have found secrets to use against them, to become powerful enough to do this. It makes sense that one who could challenge him now when the dragons are no more would have to be a dragonborn.” Frea made her pronouncement as calmly as if she were discussing a favorite hunting technique.

Ceirin looked thoughtful. He blew out a long slow breath, this time without coughing or any more smoke, and nodded.

“I am.” Those two quiet words shook Teldryn almost as badly as the tremor had.

The spellsword couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had spent time in Skyrim working for one of the most traditional death and glory types he had ever come across, he had heard all kinds of legends and tales Nords considered heroic during that time. Shouting only figured in the oldest of them. Tales of dragonborn were even rarer. And now he was working with an _altmer_ , of all things, who somehow embodied both? 

“We can talk about it later.” Said altmer gestured at them to get moving again.

They found the key, and opened the next door forward. The dragon skeleton did not come to life. Teldryn supposed that in a place such as this, he should be grateful for the little details. They worked their way through the temple-within-a –temple’s living quarters, dining hall, kitchens, and security posts, through hidden doors, and silent hallways. The heavy Nordic influence of the outer catacombs fell away and was replaced by a sinister dragon theme with odd almost deformed looking shapes. 

Spiral staircases led them deeper into the earth. It had gotten so cold this far down that Teldryn’s fingers ached, even inside his gauntlets. He had no idea how Ceirin could stand it with his fingers bare. Everything became a choke point as they wound their way down and through a series of antechambers. 

They continued into a larger tomb, back to the Nordic design except for the arrangements of dragon bones, the traps, and the bizarre effigy carved and placed at the back of the chamber. Something lumpy with eyes all over it and a flaking patina of black paint. It looked totally out of place against the traditional, if crumbling, Nord stonework. About the only reassuring thing about any of it was that they seemed to be climbing upwards again.

Beyond the statue, the hall narrowed until it had them crawling through a rough, twisting mine shaft excavated from the bedrock itself. Just when Teldryn was about to call a suggestion to turn back, the shaft came to an abrupt end, dumping them through an ornate oval doorway and into the most out of place room Teldryn had seen yet.

Dark iron fretwork scrolled and twisted over the floors, the walls, and every surface. Arches stood at regular intervals and swept up to a point in the vaulted ceiling. The room had an almost obscene aura to it, like realizing there was a dead animal crawling with maggots nearby; even if it was out of sight, the smell would still be there. Dead center in the room, a pedestal supported another creepy black book, as if presenting it to them as their sole reason for being there.

Afterward, Teldryn would never be sure how it happened. One moment Ceirin was lifting the book carefully to put in his pack, Frea was saying something about dark magic, and he was checking the exit. But as Ceirin was turning away from the pedestal, there were more tremors, and he tripped. The book flew open in his hands as he tried to catch his balance and then…

Frea shouted in alarm and Teldryn spun to look at Ceirin, _through Ceirin._ Tentacles as transparent as he was had grown out from the pages to anchor him in place. His eyes had gone solid black. 

There was nothing either of them could do.

A moment later he snapped back, the book tumbling from nerveless fingers. He fell to his hands and knees to vomit weakly across the floor. Both companions where at his side in an instant. 

“What happened to you? “ Frea’s voice was hushed with concern. “You read the book and then…”

“He’s there, Miraak is there.” Ceirin washed his mouth out with the water Teldryn handed him, settling back against the wall with his knees up, a shaking hand up over his eyes, thumb rubbing over his temple. 

“How? Where?” Frea demanded, “Can we get to him, kill him?”

“No, he’s… in some other ….realm, the book pulled me in there.” Ceirin flinched away from the meager torch light as Frea moved around to get a better look at him. He ducked his head and kept his hands up to keep out the glare.

“Headache, boss? ” Teldryn asked, keeping his voice down. He and Frea gently began to lift Ceirin to his feet. He swayed and nearly collapsed again. 

“Migraine…I’m going to be sick again..” The altmer shoved away suddenly to retch himself empty. 

“We must take him to my father.” Frea said. “ He will know what to do.” 

Watching the slow sick shivers that wracked Ceirin’s frame, Teldryn was grateful for the Skaal woman’s confidence. He had no idea what to do about an evil book that could kidnapped people and made them sick, other than to stay away from it. Frea, on the other hand, bundled up the book and shoved it into her pack, insisting that Storn would need to see it. 

Together they hauled the altmer to his feet and staggered for the exit.


	8. Clearing the Air

Teldryn woke up in a warm pile of blankets and furs, his first vague thought being that he never wanted to move from this spot. The scents of dried lavender that the bedding had been stored in, wood smoke, and food cooking drifted in the cool air inside the hall. He stretched cautiously, feeling the sharp ache of strained muscles and a tight sensation in his healing shoulder. Yawning, he turned to peer at the bed across the narrow room.

Ceirin had been terribly sick on their trip down the mountain and had passed out shortly after managing to keep down some medicine. All that was visible of him now was an arm flung out of the blankets, a tousle of long sandy hair, and one ear tip. If his arm was any indication, his color was better than the awful greenish pallor he’d had last night.

They had exited the temple to realize the source of the tremors. Red Mountain had erupted again, plumes of hot ash billowing up into the sky, reddish orange lightning flashing madly. The discontented rumbles sounded up through the ground and into their feet, even over that distance. The temperature had dropped, and as the wind picked up, a blizzard of ash and snow whipped across the Sea of Ghosts to sting their eyes and scour their faces raw. 

Struggling to support Ceirin’s weight on either side, Teldryn and Frea had stumbled towards her village, every step an exercise in survival. When they had finally made it, he had stayed awake long enough for food, medicine, and bandages. Ceirin hadn’t even done that. Frea, he thought, had stayed up a bit longer to talk to her father, but he wasn’t sure. 

Now, he wiggled back into the bedding, enjoying a moment of laziness and listening to the sounds of the hall; men and women talking, children playing. Outside, a dog barked. His ears also picked up the steady scrape of someone shoveling. That sound had been what woke him up. A rummaging sound of blankets moving and a sleepy groan told him it had awakened Ceirin as well. 

“Morning. Feeling any better?” He yawned again and belatedly realized he had no idea what time it was. The eruption kept things dark, it could have been midday, or evening for all he knew. He wasn’t sure of the date either.

He watched his employer shift the blankets away to sit up very slowly, rubbing his eyes.

“Hm. A bit. Headaches gone. I just… I feel a little odd.” His stomach growled, “And I need some food.” Ceirin ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his face to hide his embarrassment, as he started pulling clothes on for the day.

“Well, no armies of draugr or evil tentacle books today, alright?” Teldryn figured it would be better to keep it light, as he rose to go about his own dressing, but he wanted to hear what the shaman had to say about what had happened to make Ceirin so sick, where he had gone. 

“I hear you. And Teldryn…I meant what I said before. I’m glad you came back. I don’t think we would have made it out with just two of us.” 

“Now, don’t go getting all emotional on me. I despise that. I’ll be forced to quit.” Teldryn drawled. He chewed the inside of his lip, hoping he hadn’t offended Ceirin by brushing off the acknowledgement. Things had turned out alright and there wasn’t any sense in dwelling on what might have happened. He let out a breath in relief when all it did was make his altmer companion laugh.

“What I wouldn’t give for a bath.” Ceirin sighed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Teldryn made a hissing sound meant as a warning against the topic.

“What?” Ceirin dropped his voice, “I mean, I know Nords don’t bathe as often, but…”

“Don’t ask for water right now.” Teldryn gave up trying to be subtle, realizing it was going over his patrons head.

“Why not?” Ceirin’s brows came together in a puzzled frown.

“The ash, you s’wit. Or did you think it magically missed all the lakes and rivers?”

“They have a well, don’t they?” Ceirin was looking concerned but also still confused.

“They have a well. Which may or may not be contaminated if the ash is toxic or if those tremors released poisonous fumes. Solstheim is a bit far off for that, but it’s not impossible. Fresh water is the first thing people need to hoard if the ash fall gets worse, so don’t go asking them for anything extra.”

“Ah, alright… I won’t.” The altmer agreed, reaching to finger scrape his hair back in a tie. The shorter pieces still fell around his eyes but he tucked them behind his ears, despite the static that lifted the fine strands at the ends. The overall look was ridiculous. 

Teldryn winced then to think of what his own hair; helmet flattened, sweat drenched, dried again _inside_ the helmet, and then slept on, must look like. He cautiously reached up to feel at it, then pulled back at the unwashed texture. 

Ceirin caught him and made a face. He held out a brush and another tie. Teldryn frowned. His patron arched a brow at him and brandished them again. _How bad was it?_ He was torn between gratitude and anxiety that there weren’t any mirrors present.

By the time he had fought his hair back with the brush and managed to figure out a way to tie it in a thin half tail that wouldn’t slide loose; which he was certain looked awful, Ceirin was seated and getting ready to pull on his boots.

“If they are worried about poisonous fumes, they should check my socks.”

Teldryn snorted laughter and nodded his head.

“What is wrong with your socks?” Both mer jumped to see Frea standing in the doorway. 

“Never mind.” Ceirin blurted, shaking his head. 

They collected their things and followed her to the hearth for a quick bite to eat and then outside to where her father was waiting to speak with them.

The ash was letting up. The wind had changed direction that morning and the residents of the village were clearing out with shovels and brooms. Even from their spot high up on the bluff, the waves rolling in to the coast below looked fearsome. Still, seeing it all in day light, even as stormy as the sky still looked, it wasn’t as bad as Teldryn had feared. The snow hadn’t helped, but the Skaal, like the dunmer, had lived through worse and knew what they were doing. 

Storn greeted them solemnly, led them into the small shaman’s hut he shared with his daughter.

“Please, tell Storn what has happened.” Frea motioned, and they all seated themselves around the fire.

They spoke for hours. Ceirin and Teldryn explained about Raven Rock, the standing stone there, how they had been told about the temple ruins by the wizard, and found Frea there. She added her parts and the three of them, often interrupting each other, finished the rest of the story. 

Storn sat and listened to all of it, only making small comments or asking for clarification on certain points.

They asked about the book, but Storn would only shake his head. He said such things were outside his expertise and suggested they check with Neloth, the wizard, if they needed such knowledge. It was clear he disapproved of the Telvanni, but he would not tell them why.

The book was given back to Ceirin, wrapped and bound securely in a protective leather cover. The shaman cautioned him against looking at it again until they knew more. He did not think Ceirin had suffered any permanent harm, but he also seemed to know more than he was telling. Teldryn shifted his shoulders, unhappy with the incomplete answer. 

After the discussion was finished, they took a break to go and share the evening meal back in the hall. The Skaal held to the old tradition of eating the main evening meal communally. It was crowded. Many of the villagers had spent the day cleaning up the ash and had not had time to cook anything for themselves. Both Teldryn and Ceirin were the subject of some staring and a few whispered giggles, mostly from children who had never seen mer before. 

Afterwards, seated outdoors by the central fire pit, over mugs of warm mead and the fragrant smoke from someone’s pipe, Storn offered them some final advice.

“You must go to Searing’s Watch. Learn there the word that Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone. You may be able to break the hold on our people there and free them from control.” 

 

They turned to safer topics after that, intending to stay one more night and head out early the next morning if the weather held. The Skaal were generous hosts, after their own fashion, and they were supplied with food, bandages, an updated map, and even waterskins. 

After the crowd thinned out, folks having had their bit of news or gossip for the evening and headed home, Ceirin and Teldryn stayed out by the fire and watched the lingering flickers from the direction of Red Mountain while they passed a last bottle of mead back and forth between them. 

“Is it like this where you’re from?” Ceirin asked, waving a hand toward the volcano and scuffing a bit of remaining ash with his boot. The mead sloshed inside the bottle as he did so.

“I grew up in the city of Blacklight.” Teldryn pointed across the sea. Even under the cloudy conditions, a faint glow from city lights could be seen. “This wouldn’t even have raised three bells.”

“Bells?” 

“Warning bells.” He explained, “One bell is that there will be ash fall but it won’t be too bad. Two is tremors and ash, probably no building damage but you’ll have to clean up.” 

He gestured around to indicate what they had seen the village, then went back to ticking the numbers off on his fingers.

“Three bells means stay inside, preferably in a doorway, until it’s over, expect minor building damage and a lot of ash. Four is everyone digs everyone else out, collapsed buildings or ash, it doesn’t matter. Five bells is run for it; they have evacuation routes for that, usually people try for the harbor. There’s six bells, too, but that’s for a tsunami. In that case, if you haven’t evacuated, you’re fucked anyway.” He was leaned back; legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“What was the worst you ever saw when you lived there?” The altmer handed him the bottle.

“Five.” He took a swig. It was good mead. More of an herbal flavor and less cloying sweetness.

“False alarm, as it turned out. I must have been eight or nine. I just remember my parents grabbing me out of bed in the middle of the night and carrying me, blankets and all, out into the street, and people running.”

Ceirin made a quiet kind of hm noise. “I guess people get used to it.” 

“Were you born in Riften?” He asked Ceirin. It wasn’t the question he wanted an answer to, but he never opened with what he really wanted in a negotiation, and they had reached a comfortable agreement to take turns according to whoever had the bottle.

“No, in the Summerset Isles. Alinor. Well, technically, outside of it, but in that territory.” He sighed, and then when Teldryn simply shrugged, he added. “It’s the capitol.”

“Huh. Why’d you leave?” 

“That is a long story. The short answer?” He eyed Teldryn hopefully.

“If you must.” He nodded, “But I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

“The short answer is I didn’t like living there anymore so I decided to travel.” Ceirin spread his hands to the warmth of the fire.

Teldryn took another sip of mead and decided to ask.

“And it had nothing to do with you being this.. dragonborn…?” 

“What? No!” Ceirin scowled into the flames, earrings glittering as he shook his head. “No. I didn’t even know about that. That… happened later, in Whiterun, years ago. Two, maybe three, now?” He picked up a stick and prodded at the logs, pushing them over in the coals to burn down.

“What happened? How’d you find out?” 

Ceirin sighed and gave him a very serious look, “That had better not be empty.” He pointed at the bottle.

Teldryn held the mead away. “Are you going to answer?”

“Fine.” 

“Fine.” Teldryn handed him the bottle. 

Ceirin raised it up to drink. There was barely any left.


	9. A Sure Thing

Teldryn felt the impact come from behind and throw him headlong into the cold hard dirt. He struggled against the unseen pressure that held him pinned; the rational part of his mind registering the numbness in his mouth and chin where he’d struck face first. 

The hot mineral and salt taste of blood in his mouth. 

“Stay down!” Ceirin hissed sotto voce, breath fogging against the edge of Teldryn’s goggles. 

An enormous dark shadow whipped by overhead, blocking out the sun and allowing the ensuing rush of bitter mountain air to leech in and leave them shivering in the wake of the initial adrenaline spike. 

The dragon circled again, the two mer lay prone in the rocky snowfield, hardly daring to breathe, until after a third go around it vanished somewhere up ahead on the other side of the sheer cliff that separated them from the ruins they had been hiking up the slopes to explore. 

A deafening roar reverberated back through the very bedrock underneath them, the sound tearing through the frigid air. Teldryn felt it shake all the way into his teeth. Glancing upwards, he noticed snow breaking off the high cliffs above to rattle and fall in a mini avalanche into the pass ahead. 

Right where they might’ve been if they had tried to run for it.

When the dragon failed to reappear and things had quieted, Ceirin released his grip on Teldryn’s shoulders, pushing himself up onto his hands and then slowly rising to stand and brush away the snow and dirt, keeping his eyes on the sky as he did so. 

Teldryn lifted his head and worked one hand up until he could pull his scarf down to spit out the blood, much less than he had imagined in that first alarming second of tasting it, into the snow. His chin still felt numb but his tongue was starting to throb where he’d bitten it.

“Sorry about that. I wasn’t sure if you heard it coming.” Ceirin gestured at Teldryn's helmet, and then offered the dunmer a hand up, hair falling into his eyes as he leaned down. The bright mountain sunlight caught and threw his shadow across so Teldryn could only squint up at his silhouette.

“N’wah!” He accepted the hand, practically flying to his feet at the altmer’s strong tug. Ceirin had fully recovered from the incident with the book. The last few days of fresh mountain air, sunlight, and not having to fight for their lives every step of the way had allowed them both to rest and relax a bit. At least, right up until this.

“Next time, just tell me to get down and I will. No need to go throwing me about like a rag doll.” Teldryn gave his employer a mock glare that he knew couldn’t be seen, then made a show of fixing his scarf and readjusting his helmet, goggles, and armor. 

“I really should demand more in the way of hazard pay.” 

“I would agree to that,” Ceirin turned back to face him from where he had been gazing off towards the spot where the dragon had disappeared. One brow arched higher as his mouth tugged up at the corner, stretching the faint lines of old scars across his lips. His amber eyes twinkled with a glee usually reserved for when he turned out to be right about something. 

“Except, I believe you just lost a bet.” He held a hand outward, palm up this time, fingers motioning impatiently.

Teldryn wasn’t often caught off guard, but he struck a blank, staring at his patron’s outstretched hand as his mind raced, trying to register what he was ….

Oh…That.

_“Teldryn Sero, Spellsword for hire.” He stuck out his hand as he set the bottle of sujamma on the table._

_“Ceirindril Aedthaer, investigator of odd happenings, treasure seeker, and semiprofessional Dragon Slayer, at your service.” He shook Teldryn’s hand, grinning._

__

_It was a good thing Teldryn hadn’t started his drink at that point because he might’ve choked on it otherwise. He barked out a laugh as he sat opposite. Oh, this kid was too much._

__

_“Dragon slayer? Oh, really? You must have quite a talent to be able to go up against such rare and extinct creatures.” Teldryn was willing to indulge a tall tale or two. Even if it didn’t result in a job, there were worse ways to spend an evening than having drinks with an entertaining stranger. Bored and drinking alone was certainly one. Besides, treasure seeker sounded promising._

__

_“Oh, they’re not extinct. There’ve been a few in Skyrim, in fact.” There was something like knowledge gleaming in the altmer’s eyes. Like a private joke. Mischief and mystery. Two of Teldryn’s favorite things._

__

_“Well, if you came to Solstheim looking for dragons, I hate to break it to you, but there aren’t any.” He drawled, sipped his drink, and then took the opening to make his offer. “Now as for unusual happenings or treasure, there may be some at that. Old ruins around the island and that sort of thing. Dangerous places. Nobody goes out to them much. But for five hundred septims, I’d be willing to watch your back while you look.”_

__

_Now for the rejection or the bargaining, which he didn’t do. He’d learned the hard way that a flat rate was a better approach._

__

_“250 septims.” Ceirin stated, one corner of his mouth lifting into the beginnings of a sly little grin._

__

_“I beg your pardon?” Teldryn blinked, disbelieving. That wasn’t even enough to be an insult! It was just… And just when he had been thinking he might really like this fellow…_

__

_“250 septims says there’s at least one dragon, and possibly as many as three.” The altmer clarified, “You could help me look.”_

__

_Teldryn relaxed again to slouch back a bit in his chair. So that’s what he was on about. A bet? He sipped his drink and considered it. Well, why not? There was no way there was dragon anywhere near Solstheim. It was a sure thing. Semiprofessional dragon slayer, indeed._

__

_“And my fee?” He asked softly. He hated to be so blunt, but he didn’t want any confusion about whether or not he’d also just been hired. If the evening continued, drinks and distracting conversation might put him off his course. He hadn’t made that mistake since he’d been fresh out on his own._

__

_“Agreed.” His new employer nodded._

__

_“Well, then, outlander, you’re on.” Teldryn grinned, raised his glass and they toasted to their agreement._

__

Standing in the snowfield down slope of Saerings Watch under the blinding sun, Teldryn heaved a resigned sigh and handed over his coins. 

Leave it to Ceirin to remember that and bring it up on the spot. Were it anyone else, he would have added it up to uncanny timing or luck except his patron had some unusual experience with both despite his youth. 

Dragonborn. 

The spellsword wasn’t sure if he bought the whole _my- traveling-companion- is-a-living-legend-who-saved-the-world_ idea just yet. Some of the stories they had heard even as far as Raven Rock, just didn’t mesh with the mer he was traveling with. Too fantastical, by far. He’d always pictured a Nord, massive and muscle bound and wielding one of those two handed swords that stood taller the he did.

After all, he’d seen Ceirin bleed. He’d heard the things that came out of the altmer’s mouth when he broke too many lock picks. He’d gotten them lost a few times, as well. Hardly the stuff of legends, that. 

Although, if he had been asked a short while ago if a mer could breathe dragon fire, he would have sworn on his life, his soul, and his mother, that the answer to that was no, too and it would have been another bet lost.

The altmer had saved his life as well, although it could be argued that it was only because of him that Teldryn had been in danger to begin with. And in far more unusual ways than his job description typically covered. He had never had an employer with this much of a knack for getting into trouble. 

If it meant that his life for the foreseeable future continued to be full of adventure and wealth, then he was willing to take a little on faith until he had… more _information_. Information sounded better than proof. 

Assuming there was a way for someone to prove they were dragonborn. For now, he’d follow along and help Ceirin do whatever he needed to do to stop this dragon priest, Miraak, from trying to come back and take things over. 

Dragonborn or not, the altmer kept things interesting.

In the few weeks they’d spent trekking around the island together, Teldryn had come to feel as though he hardly knew Solstheim at all. Cults, Skaal, Reavers, wizards, draugr, artifacts, ash spawn, ruins he had known about but never looked into, and now a dragon.

A living, breathing, flying dragon! 

“Come on, let’s go up and take a look. I bet you that it’s sitting pretty right up on top of those ruins. Probably right over that word wall we need to look at.” Ceirin jerked his head towards where the dragon had disappeared. He checked his weapons, readjusted his pack over his shoulder, and started back up toward the pass, leaving the spellsword to stare after him, shaking his head.

“Serjo, I am not going to be taking that bet.” Teldryn huffed as he hurried to catch up, 250 septims lighter, and grinning in spite of himself.


	10. Issue the Challenge

He pulled his scarf down and sucked in a breath of cold air, pulled his helmet off, wrestled the goggles up, wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed his eyes. He looked again.

Stared.

Slowly, he approached, crouched down to reach out, and gingerly lift one small finger bone up out of the slush. It was real, heavy and smooth, in both his hands. He turned it over, then carefully set it down, and looked over at Ceirin where he knelt in the snow a few paces off, head bowed. 

He opened his mouth to call out, but his voice faltered. He swallowed, licked his lips and tried again.

“Boss?”

The figure in the snow didn’t move.

“Boss?” He tried again.

“…Ceirin?”

The altmer slowly raised his head to focus on Teldryn and the spellsword nearly wished he hadn’t. For an instant it was as though something baleful and ancient was looking at him, the dragon blazing in his patron’s eyes. He forced himself to relax his grip and move his hand away from the hilt of his sword. 

Ceirin squeezed his eyes shut, shook himself, and when he opened them again, they were normal once more. He took deep breath and stood, wiping his blades clean on the tails of his long coat before sheathing them and walking over to his dunmer companion. 

Teldryn watched him approach, eyes wide. 

Ceirin looked him over, concern in the tilt of his head and the tightening of his eyes.

“Hey, are you alright?” 

Teldryn nodded reflexively. He was bruised, singed, and sore. He had bright spots in his vision from the dragon’s fire and his ears were ringing, but nothing that was life threatening or that required treatment, so he nodded. He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t think of anything beyond that wild rush as the dragon had gone up in flames, its energy twisting and flying free to seek the mer now standing before him.

He looked away.

Ceirin squinted at him for a moment and then turned to follow his stare to the cooling skeleton stripped bare in the ice field. A gentle knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“You didn’t believe it, did you?” He grinned and shook his head at mercenary’s guilty expression.

“With the stories you tell, it just sounded like…” Teldryn couldn’t think of anything to add there that wasn’t insulting, so he trailed off.

“The stories I tell?” Ceirin chuckled.

“And anyway, it’s a Nord thing, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, I guess it is. Usually.” Ceirin shrugged, squeezed the spellsword’s shoulder, and then moved to examine the dragon bones. 

“Help yourself.” He motioned to the skeleton. At Teldryn’s questioning look, he threw his arms out wide in a theatrical pose and grinned.

“Teldryn, it’s not everyone who has a dragon bone for a souvenir. It’s not every day you kill a dragon.”

Suddenly the spellsword was staring wide eyed at the skeleton for wholly different reasons. 

He first had delusions of grandeur regarding the skull. A brief mental image played out of himself, Glover, Geldis, and Ceirin struggling to get it down the staircase to hang over the bar at the Netch, which had him shaking his head and snorting. Anyway, even assuming he could somehow manage to drag the massive thing back to Raven Rock, he would have to leave it behind when he left….

When he left. 

Not if.

A sudden shiver tightened his shoulders. He had told himself it was the lack of work that had set the wanderlust into him again. But no. He truly was done living here. Now the only question was of how to convince his patron to agree to take him along when he went back to the mainland. 

Teldryn rubbed a hand over his chin and reconsidered his souvenir options. Something portable. After careful deliberation, he chose a fore claw. It would at least fit in his pack, even if it was far too large to wear as a necklace.

They cleared a few draugr after that from the deeper parts of the ruin and found the wall high up at the top of a narrow flight of steep steps. 

While Teldryn sorted out the contents of the chest in the corner, Ceirin went and had a look at the markings etched into the stone.

“Can you make out what it says?” Teldryn asked. He jumped when the answer came back to him in a sonorous roll of guttural vowel sounds and growled bitten off consonants.

“What was...?” He felt gooseflesh prickle all over him. If his hair hadn’t been shaved and combed up already, he was certain it all would have been standing on end.

Ceirin coughed into his fist and cleared his throat few times, offering a sheepish grin. 

“Dovazhul. Dragon language.” He nodded, “It translates as, um,”

“This stone commemorates Bhar the Earth-Hunter…”

“Huh. That almost sounds like a dragon name.” Ceirin broke off, thinking out loud and glancing back down to the bones, being consumed now by the shadow of the mountains as the sun began to set. He shook his head and went back to the wall.

“…who.. something… here strong slave

As earth awaits.. something…

Something.. old instead of wise…”

“That’s all I can make out. Some of this is pretty weathered and I don’t recognize all the words.” He brushed at the stone, shrugged apologetically, and turned to realize Teldryn was staring at him again.

Later, seated back at their camp around a fire under a sky full of brilliant stars laced with blue and green auroras, they discussed their next steps. 

“So what was the shaman talking about?” Teldryn shook his head, “How was any of that supposed to help us?” He waved a hand back in the direction of the ruins.

“Gol. Earth. That’s the word I learned. That’s the only one that,” He made a kind of helpless gesture, “stood out. If you want to call it that.” 

“Alright.” Teldryn nodded, “Earth. How does that stop a dragon priest?” 

“I’m not sure yet. Storn told us to go to the Wind Stone next.” Ceirin pointed it out on the map, back in the direction they had come after leaving the Skaal village. “Maybe something there will tell us what to do…”

“Boss?” Teldryn was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the fire. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that is an awful lot to leave riding on a maybe.”

“I know.” For the first time since they had met, Ceirin looked old. 

Neither of them slept well that night.

The weather held on the return trip. They made such good time that instead of arriving after dark, they arrived at the Wind Stone just as the sun was beginning to set. Warm evening light spilled across the landscape behind them, showing them clearly that the stone and its surrounding architecture were nearly complete. 

They decided to make the most of the extra time and went in for a closer look. They crouched together in the underbrush just uphill from the stone, watching the people as they worked.

“I’m not seeing any suggestions here.” Teldryn’s lip curled at the feeling of helplessness. 

“The stone. They’re focused on the stones.” Ceirin’s eyes were lit with the intensity of his rapid thoughts. He drummed his fingers on his knee.

“Yeah. We knew that.” Teldryn prompted him to continue.

“This one is almost finished…” He pointed suddenly, “Teldryn, it’s still light outside!”

“Yes.” The spellsword frowned, starting to see the altmer’s trail of thought. “ He only controlled people at night before.”

“As the stones get closer to being finished, his control over them gets stronger.” Ceirin reasoned out loud.

“That’s what he needs people to do for him.” Teldryn was getting into it now, brainstorming with his patron to find answers.

“Why?” Ceirin’s sudden question threw him. He shook his head. 

“He needs the stones for something.” Hearing himself say it out loud, Teldryn immediately doubted it. “But what?” 

Ceirin was nodding as if he were really on to something. They looked at the scene below again.

“Teldryn. The stones. Do they do anything? Are they magic?” The altmer grabbed his shoulder and stared at him hard.

The spellsword could have smacked himself for not thinking of that sooner. He checked his sense of the energies in the surrounding area.

“Oh, yes.” He whispered. 

“They’re focal points for that big one back at the temple, aren’t they?” 

Teldryn nodded, the sudden immensity of what Miraak was planning and how little time they had left flying about in his brain.

“That’s it, that’s how we do it.” Ceirin snapped his fingers, sounding giddy. He stopped when he saw his companion’s confusion.

“Teldryn, what are stones made of?” Ceirin prompted softly, manic grin lighting up his face.

Understanding rushed over the spellsword and left chills against his skin, adrenaline singing in his veins, as his mouth hung open a moment before they both whispered the answer together in awe.

“Earth.”

Why he thought it would be easy after that, he hadn’t the faintest idea. Nothing had been so far. 

So when the shout dissolved the stone and sent it slurping down into a puddle of muck at their feet, when people began to snap out of the enslaved state they had been in and panic in the confusion, when the ground shook and a ten foot tall monstrosity made of void black slime and horror adorned with tentacles rose up and made a damned fine attempt at killing them all, he really shouldn’t have been surprised.

He should have been expecting it.


	11. Punch Drunk

It was days before they headed back to Raven Rock. They had stopped at the village briefly after the fight at the Wind Stone. Storn had agreed with their plan to continue to the other stones, marking them out on the map as he spoke. 

They headed inland, repeating the process on the Beast Stone and then the Sun Stone. Teldryn persuaded his patron to bypass Tel Mithryn for the time being until they could clear the rest of the stones. He didn’t want to find out what happened to the residents once a stone was completed and, despite their original plan, Ceirin agreed. 

They pushed down the coast heedless of the danger or their own fatigue. Another ash storm had lowered visibility and roughened tempers. As they marched, Teldryn attempted conversation, to lighten the grim mood even though it had been he who had suggested this. 

“Any time you want to head to Skyrim, I’m right with you. I’ve had enough of Solstheim to last a life time.” He made a face at the taste of ash down his throat. The stuff got through the cloth no matter how securely he tied it. They both had a cough this time.

Ceirin’s head came up and his shoulders tensed. His face, also hidden behind goggles and cloth, was unreadable. 

“I’ll consider it.” His tone was flat. He trudged ahead and made no further comment.

Teldryn knew he’d said the wrong thing. He put his head back down and kept quiet.

By the time they crossed under the bulwark, the storm was dying out. They found the town deserted, booths left empty in the plaza and doors to homes swinging open in the drifting ash. Teldryn swallowed back the fear of being too late and ran, Ceirin right behind him.

The standing stone was a hub of activity. As soon as the shout hit the stone, people started coming back to themselves, bewildered.

“How did…?” Glover Mallory was standing next to him, squinting at his surroundings in confusion.

“Get everyone clear!” Teldryn had time to scream before the stonework started to break apart.

He saw white all around the blacksmith’s eyes and was about to yell again when Glover grabbed the arm of the woman nearest him and started shoving her away from the structure.

The water at their feet went black and began to gurgle. 

Two creatures rose this time.

Ceirin hit one with a shout of some sort. It was flung back towards the ocean, away from the people scrambling to get up to the road. The spellsword had a brief glimpse of the altmer vaulting over the broken foundation after it, but got caught up dealing with the other. He hit it with a barrage of ice spike spells, targeting the joints to slow it down.

It lurched, flinging black tendrils out to trip him and knock him over backwards. He struggled to get to his feet, to bring his blade to bear, but one tentacle, wrapped about his ankle, dragged him off balance and into range. He might have been done for then, except for Captain Veleth.

Veleth hadn’t wasted time trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He saw a threat, and he started giving orders. 

The Redoran Guard charged in, blades forcing the creature to withdraw. Working as a group they drove it back. Teldryn got his feet under him and waded right back in to help finish it off. The strange sounds it made as it died hurt his ears. When it ceased to move, he turned to find Ceirin.

The guardsmen fell back, giving them room and preventing the remaining creature from approaching the townsfolk. 

Down on the shore, Ceirin was a blur, blades whipping about faster than the eye could follow. Black ichor spattered the sand. Ash gusted past, obscuring the spellsword’s view. As he ran, he aimed a spell at the last spot he had seen the creature, heard it hit. As the ash blew clear again, Ceirin was leaping at the thing as it fell back into the surf. Teldryn skidded to a halt alongside him.

Three blades plunged into the creature’s chest. 

Exhausted, they both stood a moment to catch their breath in the surf, cold salt water washing up over their ash coated boots. It had gone silent except for the occasional gust of wind and the susurration of waves on sand. The captain stood a ways off, waiting for them. And beyond that, the townsfolk were huddled together as they shook off the shock and then began to cheer.

All in all, they made an odd parade back into town. 

Later that evening, bathed, wearing clean clothes, and fed, they were willing to answer questions to the crowd. And to accept drinks as gratitude. 

And the Netch was crowded. Looking around, Teldryn noticed faces he didn’t recognize. Geldis filled them in on the good news. The councilor had decided to reopen the mine. Word had gone out and when the boat from Windhelm had come in a few days past, it had been full of people looking for work. Things were looking up. 

Teldryn sat watching the crowd rejoice, having taken his final drink and escaped to a corner, leaving Ceirin the center of attention. He watched his patron converse, shake hands, politely decline more drinks, and dodge flirtations, with an easy charm that seemed renewed after the long trip. 

“You should be out there.” Glover Mallory dropped into the seat opposite, jerking his head back towards the altmer where he stood out, head and shoulders above the rest of the room.

“Let him have it. I’m in no mood.” Teldryn waved a hand dismissively and went back to his drink. 

“Brooding? Don’t let me interrupt.” Glover quipped.

“Shut up.” 

“Seriously, Sero, what’s eating you?” Glover prodded him. “We’re all still alive, thanks to you two, and here you are lurking in a corner like somebody spit in your ale.” 

“Forget it. It’s nothing.” Teldryn heaved a disgusted sigh. 

“Out with it.” The blacksmith threatened, “Or I’ll go ask him.” He made as if he were getting up from the table.

“No! Don’t.” Teldryn sank back, defeated. Glover raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Alright. “ The spellsword admitted, “I think I screwed up today.” 

“What?! Because you got knocked on your ass and Veleth had to jump in? Netch crap. They’re Redoran, they would’ve done that anyway. ” 

“No, you fetcher, not that.” Teldryn rubbed his hand over his eyes, “Before, on our way back. I may have said that if he wanted to head back to Skyrim, I’d go with him.”

“Yeah, so?” Glover asked.

“He said he’d consider it.” Teldryn curled his lip and glared at the bottom of his now empty drink. “as in ‘no’ but he’s just too polite to say it to my face.”

“Well,” Glover frowned over his mug, “I think that you like this job. And I know that getting drunk and throwing fried ash hopper legs at the back of Mogrul’s head when he’s not looking is not the way you want to spend the rest of your life.” 

They shared a conspiratorial grin over the prank that had nearly gotten them both killed the previous summer.

“And I see the state your armor comes back in.” the blacksmith continued, “You’ve never said anything, but you’ve faced some bad things. Like today. I don’t know what he pays you, but I would say, if he’s going to cut you loose, then he owes you an explanation as to why.” 

Teldryn scrubbed his hands over his face. It was late. The day was catching up to him and so were the drinks. He was more than a little off balance and all he wanted now was a warm bed. The advice had him nodding along. 

Glover headed off to get another drink, and Teldryn, stifling a yawn, decided to head for bed.

Geldis had reassigned their rooms. Too many newcomers and he hadn’t been in a position to refuse the coin. The one they were now sharing was tiny; two narrow cots, each with a chest at the foot for odd and ends, a threadbare rug and a rickety table in between where a lantern cast a warm glow over it all. With their weapons, armor, dirty laundry and filthy ash dusted camping supplies, bedrolls reeking of wood smoke, piled up about the place waiting to be cleaned, mended or unpacked, it had quite a lived in feel already.

Teldryn was dozing when the door creaked opened and Ceirin edged into the room. He was sober enough to attempt quiet and just tipsy enough that he kicked into the chest at the end of his bed and then knocked his shin on the bedframe, cursing. 

“I thought you might have found other accommodations tonight.” The spellsword gave up on getting to sleep.

“Wha…Oh, were you expecting someone? ...I could.” The altmer spun back towards the door and stopped, apparently at loss for what to do.

“No. You, you idiot. Last I saw, Mirri Severin was making it pretty clear she had plans concerning where you spent the night.”

“Oh. Right. I, um, I don’t know her, so…when she went to get another drink, I ducked out.”

Teldryn snorted. 

“She’s rich. Her father owns half this island.” He teased.

“Don’t.” Ceirin stopped midway through pulling off his boots. His tone was final. 

“Apologies.” Teldryn swallowed. He’d said the wrong thing again. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine.” 

Liar. Teldryn took a breath and continued.

“I didn’t mean to invite myself along, you know. Earlier, when I asked about Skyrim. I’ve been enjoying our travels so far and I just thought that there was no reason to end our contract when you headed back if you didn’t want to.”

There was a loud sigh and the creaking of the bed frame as Ceirin settled down and turned to stare at the ceiling.

“That’s not such a good idea.”

“Will you tell me why not?” 

“It’s complicated.” Ceirin had an arm up over his eyes. The lantern had burned low enough that most of his form was lost in shadow. 

“More complicated than you being Dragonborn? That’s hard to believe.”

“You might be surprised.” Ceirin muttered, covering a yawn.

“Try me.”

Another sigh and Ceirin swung his legs over to sit up on the edge of the bed.

“It’s just…it’s another life, there. In Riften. They don’t know about me being Dragonborn, or any of it. And no one outside Riften knows …ah, well...what I do when I’m there. My other job, as it were.”

“You’re concerned I’d give you away somehow?” Teldryn didn’t know of any jobs that needed that kind of secrecy. What kind of double life was the altmer living?

“No.” Came the quiet reply. “I’m afraid they’d give me away.”

“I don’t understand.” Teldryn couldn’t think of what to say. His stomach felt tight and his head was starting to pound. He found himself wishing he had stayed asleep.

“I know.”

The lantern sputtered and threatened to leave them in darkness.


	12. Antisocial Behaviors

_“You’re what?!”_

Someone from the room on the other side of the wall pounded and called for them to be quiet.

“….in the Thieves Guild.” It was almost a whisper.

The altmer sat with his hands braced on the mattress, his shoulders hunched nearly up to his ears, feet tucked back under the bed with his knees turned in as he watched Teldryn pace the tiny aisle of their shared room, shadow thrown to monstrous length across the wall and stretched up to the ceiling. 

“You steal things?”

“…Yes.”

Teldryn did a double take, glaring. Ceirin had said that in such a straightforward manner. The spellsword didn’t know what to make of this latest revelation. What kind of person admitted to such antisocial behavior?

“Have you stolen from the people here? Is that how you’ve been paying me?” 

“What? No!” Ceirin wrinkled his nose in distaste at the very idea.

If a thief could be offended. _If a thief could be believed._

“What is it you do for them, exactly, if I may ask?” Teldryn raked both hands back through his hair, his tone acerbic. It wasn’t his business and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but damn it to all to Oblivion, he didn’t have anything left now. He had been working for a criminal. His contract was void. He slammed his fist into the wall.

Ceirin’s eyes widened and he looked down at Teldryn’s feet. When he looked back up, he looked so abjectly sorry. Teldryn wanted to grab him by the shoulders, or maybe the neck, and shake him.

“What? What else is there?” The spellsword demanded.

The altmer chewed his bottom lip, let out a breath and then said the final last thing Teldryn was expecting to hear.

“I’m the Guild Master.”

_“You’re what?!”_

The next morning, as he stormed across the plaza, he replayed the conversation in his head, every interaction they’d ever had, wondering what he had missed. How had this all gone wrong? 

Absorbed in his thoughts, eyes to the ground, he rounded a corner and nearly ran down Second Councilor Arano. After flustered apologies were exchanged on both sides, the councilor shifted from foot to foot, not wanting to leave, but uncertain of how to proceed all the same. 

“I was just about to make inquiries of your employer. Is he about?” Arano admitted after an uncomfortable pause. He looked around as if searching for him, but Teldryn noticed him checking back over his shoulder. 

Something was going on.

As it happened, after their ‘discussion’ last night, they had decided to work apart for the foreseeable future. Well, Teldryn had decided. Ceirin had agreed, though he’d been reluctant. He had then packed up earlier and headed up to Tel Mithryn to ask Neloth about those black books. They would reconvene to discuss the final stone, somewhere north in the wilderness, when he got back.

Which had left Teldryn alone, faced with an unplanned day off, with no further prospects, and a hangover. In other words, in want of distraction. Now, however…

“He’s been called away on another matter, Second Councilor. Perhaps I can assist you?”

The councilor hesitated for a moment, then seeming to come to some internal decision, drew him back into the shadow of a building. He proceeded to tersely explain his suspicions that an assassination attempt was going to be made on First Councilor Morvayn, soon. 

Teldryn knew bits of the history from rumors that had gone around over the years. How the Ulens of House Hlaalu blamed Morvayn for the death of some ancestor or other; there was still some denial in their mind over the lawfulness of the execution, and a blood feud had been started over it. 

What made Arano believe they were active here in Raven Rock, now, was a matter of doubt. The Second Councilor admitted that he was acting primarily on a gut instinct. He was bound to Redoran House law and the First Councilor did not support his suspicions. He felt powerless to act and was looking to hire an intermediary. 

Which was where the spellsword came in. Arano’s request was simple. Have a look around, maybe ask some questions and get a better sense of whether or not his instincts were correct. If at all possible, uncover evidence that would allow him to act. 

Teldryn wasn’t sure about the whole spy routine; it sounded an awful lot like what he had argued with the altmer about, but with nothing better to do he decided it wouldn’t hurt to nose around a bit. He knew most of the people in Raven Rock, by reputation if not by name. Arano’s first lead was Geldis anyway, so there wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary to start. 

Heading back down to the Netch, he waited until Geldis was working back behind the bar and away from customers.

“Well, well. Adril’s got himself a spy, does he?” The bartender took it in stride, shaking his head and adding, “Azura knows he needs all the help he can get. He’s been chasing the Ulens for years now.”

“You think he’s mistaken?” Teldryn frowned. He hadn’t realized the extent of the feud. Arano had made it sound as though the Ulens had been coming after them, not the other way around. 

“No.” Geldis placed some clean mugs on the shelf, wiping away the dust as he set them down, in neat rows. “I just think he’s going about this the wrong way.”

 _Politicians._ Teldryn shook his head. He should have known Arano wasn’t giving him the whole story. Always had to skew things to make themselves look like they were innocent. _Not that they were the only ones._

“You have a better idea?” He leaned against the support beam next to the counter and rubbed his forehead. He could have done with more sleep last night or less of a hangover. Or both. 

“Actually, I do.” Geldis shook a finger at Teldryn and grinned, lowering his voice. Teldryn found himself leaning in and listening.

It served to remind Teldryn, as he hid in the shadows of the Ulen tomb, that Geldis was a canny bastard and had a streak of cleverness in him that he didn’t often get to show off in his day to day routine. 

Upon hearing someone quietly enter and approach the alter, he stepped out and came face to face with, of all people, Tilisu Severin. 

She was well-dressed as always; jewelry and makeup all done as if for a day at court, and caught rather awkwardly in the process of kneeling to place ash yams on the altar. She raised her head high and recovered her shock with a haughty veneer of authority, but something about the way she held herself made her attitude seem brittle, forced. Teldryn made some excuse about the guards expressing concern over someone possibly vandalizing the tombs, apologized for disturbing her, and made his retreat. 

He needed to get back to Arano with this. The Severins? After all they had invested in Raven Rock over the years, could they really be spies here only to kill? That was a lot of work to go to for revenge. His stomach ached and his eyes felt scratchy. _Wasn’t anyone who they said they were?_ He checked to make sure she hadn’t followed him out, and then crossed the street to the low wooden building where the offices of the First and Second Councilors were located.

The next stage of the Arano’s plan had him crouched in the twilight shadows outside the Severin’s manor house door, fumbling with the unfamiliar picks in his hand, fingers tense and clumsy, biting back the urge to curse out loud as yet another slender metal tool snapped due to his inexpert use. 

_Ceirin hadn’t made this look so difficult._

He ground his teeth and tried again.

Councilor Arano had made it clear. It was all on him to get the evidence. Assuming there was any. Once he had it, whatever he needed to do to get it back intact was sanctioned. Until then or unless, he was on his own.

He offered a silent prayer of thanks to Azura when the lock finally clicked open. He forced himself to wait. Ceirin always listened for activity first when they came to a locked door. And cleaned up all his broken picks. Teldryn set to pocketing every piece he could find. 

_What am I doing?_

He cautiously edged the door open a crack and looked around the larger foyer. There was a fireplace at one end, a coat rack on the wall and a neat line of boots and shoes beneath that. A carved iron and wood bench sat off to one side flanked by a reading table that held a sculptural small bit of art and an assortment of the type of books wealthy people put out that were meant to make a room look homey and lived in but that no one ever actually read. There was a nice carpet at the top of the staircase leading down to the living quarters. The floor was swept clean. 

The décor was about what he had expected. It was tasteful, expensive, and in much better condition than what he was used to seeing elsewhere in the town. Whatever the Severins’ had invested in Raven Rock, they weren’t being hurt financially by its downturn.

The room offered no cover, few shadows, and no evidence of any kind. He snuck in and pressed the door closed behind him with painful slowness, flinching as it clicked shut, certain the entire place had heard. 

When it remained quiet, he edged towards the stairs, heart pounding, and eased his way down to search the rest of the rooms. His adrenaline spiked every time a tread creaked under foot.

Once hidden in the deeper shadows at the bottom of the stairwell, palms sweating, he peered across at the expanse of the house, built well back into the slope of a hill. Hallways stretched out in three directions, opening onto more rooms and alcoves. He could hear two women conversing off somewhere in one of them. Likely Tilisu and her daughter. There was no sign of Vendil, yet.

“Boethiah inspire me” He whispered, before taking a guess at where a wealthy family might chose to store important items, and sneaking deeper into the house.

He had just finished his search of two of the bedrooms and was heading into the third and largest when the door upstairs opened and Vendil Severin arrived home. 

“Tilisu? Mirri? Do we have a guest? Who tracked all this ash in here?”

Teldryn froze, heart hammering. _His boots! He hadn’t thought about his filthy boots on their clean floor._ Of all the ridiculous things to get caught over. He’d go to prison. And that would be if he was lucky. They might just kill him. Without proof, Arano couldn’t back him. 

Frantic, he began looking for a place to hide. No brilliant options presented themselves.

Down the hall, voices answered Vendil’s call.

Teldryn gave up his search and scrambled to fit under the bed. 

He held his breath and waited. 

The sound of footsteps approached.


	13. Learning Curve

Ceirin was looking around at the interior of the odd mushroom tower when a flinty voice drew his attention.

“How do you like my new laboratory? I use it to dissect spriggans. I've learned so much from them." Master Neloth swept into the room, all self-importance and an overly disinterested manner affected as drama.

He did not shake Ceirin’s hand.

“It’s interesting.” Ceirin answered in what he hoped were polite tones, averting his eyes from the room where a bound spriggan wriggled against its restraints. He refocused, reached into his pack, and went ahead with the business that had brought him there. The sooner he got some answers, the sooner he could start figuring out how it would help.

“I understand you may be able to tell me something about these books, I, um, found.”

Master Neloth’s face didn’t change, but his eyes lit with an almost feverish glow. He reached out and grasped the book, stroked his fingers over the cover, and made as if to open it but then did not. He handed it back and looked up at his guest with a sly expression.

"Found one? Yes, and you read it, too, didn't you?” 

“Not on purpose!” Ceirin’s eyes widened and he shook his head. The memory of the awful pounding in his head made him swallow and edge back from Neloth a bit.

“Don't try to deny it, you've got the look. I can see it now. Dangerous knowledge is still knowledge and therefore useful.” The wizard continued as if he hadn’t noticed. 

“Usually turns out to be the most useful, in my experience." He drew his robes around him and guided Ceirin to another room to show him a grated vault where a matching book sat on a shelf. 

“What you have there is a tome created by none other than Hermaeus Mora, himself.”

The wizard commanded his steward to bring them tea and they had a seat at a table uncluttered by scrolls, diagrams, or other magical detritus. As they waited, he went on to explain that the books were artifacts that probably transcended time and contained all sorts of forbidden knowledge put there by the Daedric Prince of Fate and Knowledge. 

They were meant as a trap for mortals. People went mad from reading them, or got sucked into the realm of Apocrypha, as Ceirin had. Many never returned. 

The usual terrible and clichéd story of the dangers of greed and careless use of magical items. Neloth clucked his tongue over it. The altmer didn’t know which he found to be more distasteful, the cliché or the incompetence. Given the wizard’s attitude, it could have been either.

“Would the books have information on how to defeat Miraak?” Ceirin had only one concern, if the answer was there, he would have to try and risk it again.

However, his question seemed to surprise Neloth, who set his tea cup back onto its saucer, frowning.

"Miraak? The one all the townsfolk are always chanting on about?" 

“Yes. He's trying to return to Solstheim. I need to know what he knows in order to stop him.” Ceirin felt his frustration rising. Perhaps Storn had misjudged the wizard’s ability to help.

Neloth did help, though, if only for his own gain. He had been using his book to seek the others. He wanted something, of course. Ceirin had dealt with enough of the sort and the wizard was not the subtle type. He wanted another of the Black Books from a nearby dwemer ruin and needed help to retrieve it. _Expendable_ help was the word that came to Ceirin’s mind but he kept quiet. It wasn’t the first time he had ventured into dwemer ruins. 

Neloth, as it turned out, was a fierce fighter. Ruthless, calculating, and absolutely bent on getting what he was after. Worse, he was patient. They worked together in an uneasy alliance through the flooded, Reaver infested corridors until they managed to succeed in adjusting the pressure to open the sealed case the dwemer had secured their book in. 

Ceirin had forgotten how tense it was to work in dangerous quarters with someone he didn’t know if he could trust. He was vastly relieved to arrive back at Tel Mithryn without a knife or a lightning bolt in his back. He imagined the faces he and Teldryn could have made behind the wizards back, had the spellsword been there. It cheered him a bit.

Upon their return, Neloth left him to sit quietly in a room alone to gather his thoughts before attempting the book again while the wizard went to go and eat his supper. Ceirin had the distinct impression that if he died or went mad, he would just be swept out the door by the house keeper along with the after dinner crumbs, and not given any thought beyond that. He looked down at the tome on his hands, already feeling queasy.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out through his mouth, he counted down from ten and then cracked open the cover.

When he closed the book again, the candles had burned down. He felt cold all over. His head was throbbing and his eyes were out of focus, but it had been easier this time. He must have groaned or moved because Neloth looked up from his work table. The wizard came over and checked his pulse, examined his eyes, and asked him questions, all the while making uncomforting remarks about how fascinating it all was to be able to study the effects without having to experience them himself. He jotted down several things in a notebook, but would not share what he had written.

After Ceirin had rested and managed to keep down some food and tea, Neloth handed him the second book.

And then the third.

And so they passed the longest hours of the night.

By the end, Ceirin’s hands were ice cold and his head pounded mercilessly. His vision blurred around the edges and light stung but he was much less sick overall than he had been that first time. Neloth spent several long minutes peering at his eyes, but once again pronounced that he was not exhibiting the black spots that showed up the influence of the Daedric Prince. 

Ceirin couldn’t tell if the wizard was relieved or disappointed.

By morning, he was off to the Skaal Village. He had not told Neloth that the books had failed to teach him what he needed to know. But, apparently, Storn Crag- Strider could.

As he hiked back up to the highlands, he found that the thin sunlight did not warm him. He squinted and pulled his hood lower over his face. The sky was a harsh cloudless blue and the squawking of the birds was too loud. The ground felt unyielding, every step striking too hard. It felt somewhat like having a hangover. He dwelled on the remembered hush of dark sepulchral halls filled with the sour reek of old books, the fluttering of papers in an unfelt breeze, and the slow hypnotic slurp of an inky acidic ocean under pale green light.

If Frea suspected anything was the matter with him upon his arrival, she did not show it. He was taken to meet with her father out near the central fire pit where he and Teldryn had talked and shared mead.

If Storn had any indication that the day would end with his death, a mass of tentacles heralding the reach of Herma Mora appearing in the sky over his village, or with Ceirin using a Black Book unsupervised to reenter Apocrypha to use the shout he’d been gifted with to challenge another Dragonborn, he gave no sign of his premonitions.

If Ceirin felt the watchful eyes of a Daedric Prince on him, the trap to force his hand tightening, he did not avoid it, but stepped forward unerringly. As though he were fated to do so.

When the day was over and done, it could be said that all any of them did was their duty.

No more and no less.


	14. Casualties

“Has a thief gotten in?” Vendil Severin called to his wife and daughter and sent them to check the home for missing valuables. 

Teldryn pressed himself flat to the floor beneath the bed, terrified that at any moment the suspected spy would discover him. He watched the booted feet walk across the room, stopping next to the bed. Two sets of footsteps headed away from the room as the women spread out to search the rest of the house. 

Vendil however, knelt and began clearing away a hidden safe, tucked behind several large baskets in the shadow of a bookcase. He opened it, looking over the contents, muttering in relief to find it all still there.

Teldryn understood several things in rapid order. First, that he would never have found the safe in his search. He had not been so thorough as to pull things away from the walls to look behind them. Secondly, that Severin must have had the key on him. Third, that Severin was holding the evidence he needed. And last of all, that he was well and truly screwed. He had no plan. 

The safe was open and the documentation he needed was within reach and he couldn’t move without making enough noise to have the whole Redoran Guard brought down on him.

But he couldn’t stay here, either. And if Vendil closed the safe again….

He shifted slightly to get a better line of sight on the feet next to the bed. He called up an ice spike spell and took careful aim.

It all went to Oblivion after that. 

Vendil didn’t scream right away. Between the cold and the shock he staggered back and fell with his mouth open in horror, clutching at his leg. Teldryn scrambled out from under the bed, grabbed the papers, and turned to run, only to slam into Mirri, who at the sight of Vendil on the floor, drew her daggers and attacked. Her shrieks brought Tilisu, who joined in. 

Apparently, they weren’t the sort of family who called the guards.

Teldryn did his best to duck and run for it, but a dagger slipped through the seam of his armor into his hip and another coming in towards his face made it necessary to defend. 

His hesitation to inflict any lasting harm ended when he heard Tilisu scream something about vengeance for the Ulens.

Clutching the papers close, he drew his blade and cleared a path to the door. He didn’t stop running until he tripped over a trama root and nearly sprawled face first into the road. There was no outcry from the manor, nor any pursuit. Hip throbbing, the sticky trickle of blood soaking beneath his clothes, he limped, coughing, over to the torchlight surrounded by a living halo of bugs and had a look at what he had managed to grab, praying it would be what he needed.

It was.

He headed to Arano’s office. Vendil Ulen would be the councilor’s problem now. He wasn’t cut out for this spying around business. He clenched his hands into fists, Tilisu’s blood still caked on his gloves. He hadn’t stopped to check if they were alive or dead as he’d torn up the steps to escape. In a straight up fight, or guarding someone, he didn’t hesitate. Everyone involved knew the score. And he had never been in the habit of dwelling on it after.

But this? _This had been someone’s home._ When he had gone in, he hadn’t known if they were guilty of anything or not. He had attacked before he had found that out for certain. He had probably killed two people tonight. This had been different. Dirty, guilty, in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. He didn’t like it.

He wondered if the altmer had ever gotten caught; had ever needed to kill anyone to escape. Ceirin wasn’t a bad person. Teldryn had trouble reconciling the mer he knew with the sneak-in-the-shadows idea of thief in his mind with the experience he had just had. 

Heading back to the Netch and drinking his pay for this job was rising on his list of ways to spend the rest of his evening.

As it turned out, his evening was far from over. The Second Councilor took a look at the letters he had recovered. Captain Veleth was brought in. His best guards were assigned to make the arrest. 

They soon returned to report that Tilisu had been found dead in the house and Vendil had been seen fleeing towards the remains of Ashfallow Citadel with someone who matched Mirri’s description. Seeing as how all that land was owned by the Severins, it was understood that they might well have some unpleasant surprises set up there for anyone who came after them.

Which was how, as the sky lightened into morning, Teldryn found himself marching out to assist in the arrest alongside a squad of guards at the councilor’s behest. It was the last place he wanted to be. He regretted not making more of a fuss over his hip, then perhaps the healer would have given him an excuse not to go.

Arriving at the citadel, they were ambushed first thing. 

Morag Tong, by the look of the armor. 

The first three guards died taking the stairs. The rest broke down the door and headed in to get the fugitives. Teldryn followed along, teeth clenched against the dread that rose up in his chest. 

And the day only got worse.

Once inside, the halls were an obstacle course of traps and more Morag Tong. They pressed forward, fighting their way through, while the scout went ahead to try and clear the traps.

From the extent of the set up and the lived in state of the rooms, it was clear the Ulens had been building a foothold here for weeks, if not months. Teldryn and the remaining guards exchanged looks. There had been an active cell of assassins some five miles out from Raven Rock and no one had known. As bad as it was, it could have been much, much, worse.

As they cleared room after room, Teldryn fell into the routine of it. There was a system, it was familiar, one point of sense in a chaotic situation. It was not dissimilar to how he and Ceirin had cleared their way through tombs of draugr. Other employers in the past had used similar tactics. His confidence began to rise. Perhaps this would all turn out alright.

Then another guard died discovering a trap the scout had missed. 

They followed a blood trail to find the scout with his throat cut.

The pace slowed after that. 

They navigated their way one step at a time around the remaining spike traps, over pressure plates and through another side room where he once again had to fight for his life against Mirri and her daggers. She got him again, this time in the side. The blade went deep and left a feverish, buzzing sensation in its wake that slowly began to spread beneath his skin. 

Poison. 

He struck out with the pommel of his sword and when she reeled back, stunned and clutching her broken face, he killed her. 

This time he checked to be sure. 

After, he leaned in the doorway for a moment to catch his breath, letting the cracked aged-darkened beams support him. He felt ill; flushed and dizzy. His muscles began to cramp. Whatever she had chosen to coat her blades with, it worked fast.

He was almost out of time.

In the final room, Vendil Ulen was waiting for them.


	15. Convoluted

Storn was dead and it was his fault. 

He raced down dank hallways, dodging pools of acidic inky slime, and across fretwork balconies where a misstep meant death. He grabbed the books. He killed the Lurkers. He tore over the bridges and up stairways, placed the books, and killed the Seekers. He kept going. There was only one way he could make this count.

The last chapter was opening. 

He strode to where the dragon waited for him. 

Apocrypha looked less intimidating from up high.

As the dragon landed, Ceirin jumped down and stepped clear, unfastening his jacket and loosening his collar. He rolled his neck and shoulders, keeping the muscles warm.

Miraak turned, poised. His body language gave nothing away. 

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended.” He seemed to have been expecting this.

Ceirin noticed a reverberation of power in his vocals, like the Greybeards. This Dragonborn had more experience Shouting than he did. Which made sense, except he thought it should have been worse. If he had been practicing for millennia…

Miraak strode forward to face him then and inclined his head. “He is a fickle master, you see.” His tones suggested a private joke.

Dread pooled cold in Ceirin’s stomach. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to keep from clenching his teeth, from letting his face show any reaction. It was the confirmation he had feared.

He had been manipulated into coming here, into unleashing this grief and terror on the Skaal.

On Solstheim. 

Hermaeus Mora had been influencing him all along. The books had only opened the door to this place, this final fight. That comment, though; _fickle master…_ did Miraak fear being cast aside?

So this _was_ a trap. 

But for which of them?

He braced himself. He wasn’t sure what the Daedric Prince thought to gain from this fight, but he had no ambition to take Miraak’s place. He flexed his fingers, relaxing his grip on the hilts of his blades. The only thing that mattered now was stopping Miraak. Ceirin would worry about his master later.

The First Dragonborn inclined his head, features hidden behind his stylized mask. His tone when he spoke sounded irrefutable.

“You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again.” 

Ceirin shook his head. Miraak wanted his soul? _Body of a mortal, soul of a dragon_ …He swallowed the sudden uneasy feeling that Miraak might be like Alduin. 

He noticed the motions of the two dragons…no, three, hovering to either side in his peripheral vision. He shifted his weight, testing the traction under his boots. He tightened his fingers around the familiar ebony hilts. He missed having Teldryn at his back. A flame atronach and a sarcastic insult might not have evened the odds, but it would’ve made him feel a lot better. One deep breath in. Exhaled slowly. He could do this.

Miraak opened his mouth to continue. 

Ceirin drew his blades and struck. 

One blade missed. 

One blade drew blood, biting through the fabric of Miraak’s robes.

The first shout Miraak uttered wasn’t in Dovahzul, but a cry to his dragons. They took flight, winging out over the top of the tower to circle the fighters. He struck out with fire.

Ceirin dove to the side and rolled up behind cover, the hem of his coat smoking. He rolled back out and Shouted, knocking his opponent back several paces. It did not, however, send him tumbling or cause him to lose his footing. Ceirin grimaced. He would need to come up with something better if he meant to survive this. He took too long to think about it.

Miraak hit him.

It sent pain tearing through his frame and dropped him to his knees. The acrid reek of ozone filled his mouth and nose. He saw the second arc heading in and scrambled headlong back behind the scant bit of cover. He looked down to see singe marks across his coat. His fingertips were numb and blackening. His ears were ringing.

Lightning. He had been hit with lightning. 

Taking a quick peek around the corner did not reveal anything of use. He needed to keep the other from being able to cast. And that meant getting in close. Gritting his teeth, he adjusted his grip on his sword and dagger and tore out of cover, dodging and weaving towards the masked figure who stood his ground, waiting.

They battled, moving around the platform, trying to keep each other off balance. Magic, Shouts, and blades all came into play. Miraak fell back to using his staff, a wicked hooked scythe at one end. Blood flowed from their wounds and darkened to a stiff brown crust on shirtsleeves and collars, gluing fabric to skin.

And then a sudden Shout. 

Miraak was gone. 

Ceirin whirled to catch sight of him, only to take another blast of lightning and then a second one of fire that left him staggering. He reeled and ducked to find a blind spot, someplace Miraak couldn’t hit him. He dug out a potion from one of his belts and swallowed it in one gulp. It wasn’t going to do much, but he would take all the help he could get. 

He looked out when he heard a Shout he had never heard, four syllables instead of three. A call of ownership over…?

He looked around the edge of his cover and watched in horror as the dragon descended, its soul blazing out of its body to be absorbed by the First, leaving the skeleton to fall to the floor. Ice ran through his blood. He remembered all the skeletons around the temple…

Another glimpse showed Ceirin that he had healed from his injuries. 

“Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us right now.” Miraak taunted him from the safety of his alcove. 

Ceirin didn’t deign to answer him. He took the time to muster his energy for the fight ahead.

When his breathing was even again, when his hands had steadied, he stepped back out.


	16. Coup de Grâce

The remaining guards rushed the room to clash with the assassins who had remained behind to aid Vendil. The clang of blades and cries of pain echoed in the dark circular room. Within moments more guards were dead but so were both of Ulen’s allies. 

The assassin stepped over the bodies of his fallen comrades on his way across the room. He came straight after Teldryn, ignoring the two guards who were circling around behind him, seeking an opening where they wouldn’t be in danger of hitting the mercenary. 

Weakened and losing consciousness, the spellsword lost ground. He stumbled back out of the room, managing to block the incoming blows but not to set a defense. Vendil was not as fast as Mirri had been, but hate gave him a berserker sort of strength that battered down the already injured spellsword’s defenses.

Back stepping as fast as possible, Teldryn hit Vendil with a burst of flames.

It occurred to him as the heat left his hands that it had been a poor choice.

The assassin slowed, but not long enough. His natural heat resistance as a Dunmer prevented any real damage. He pressed forward through the fire and pressed his attack, coming in high with a cut meant to slice from shoulder to opposite hip. 

Teldryn parried it, but missed the kick that followed in its wake. Tumbling back onto the cool gritty floor, he shook his head, trying to clear the spots dancing in his vision. The buzzing sensation had started to shift into numbness. He wanted to feel relief at the lack of pain, but he knew enough about poisons to recognize it was a bad sign. 

Vendil stepped down on the blade of his sword. The ebony flexed, but didn’t snap. 

Teldryn was forced to let go or get his hand pinned.

One of the guards got a clear shot and fired, the arrow striking the assassin right under the shoulder blade, sinking between the ribs. 

Vendil huffed out a breath and staggered, but did not fall. He somehow turned the forward momentum into a desperate lunge at the spellsword.

Teldryn shuffled back, crab crawling to keep just out of range.

His hand brushed something on the floor just behind him. He reached, instinctively closed his fingers around it. He would only have one shot at this. It would have to count as much as he could make it.

As Vendil came in at him, blades poised to strike, he rolled back and up onto his shoulder, clearing himself out of range, and then he rolled right back down again, kicking out with both feet and connected to the assassin’s knee. 

Another arrow struck. When the assassin exhaled under the force of the hit this time, he sprayed pink frothy blood. 

His lung, Teldryn thought. At least one arrow had pierced his lung. Vendil doubled over in pain, his leg no longer supporting him, the spellsword raised himself up, threw himself forward and drove the dagger he had picked up into his neck, down behind the collarbone, beneath the armor. He let his body weight sink it in to the cross guard. 

Vendil’s eyes widened as he felt the poison enter his system. The spellsword wondered if he knew who’s dagger he had just been killed by. He let Teldryn’s weight barrel him over.

“I join you in death, father…” the assassin choked out in a final whisper, blood spattering his lips. He sank to the floor and did not move again. 

Teldryn groped for the weapons the assassin held and shoved them away to clatter across the tiles. He wasn’t going to take the chance. He fumbled for the pouch at Vendil’s belt, praying there was an antidote. 

It was getting harder to breathe.

The clasp stuck.

His fingers didn’t want to work anymore. He could barely feel them.

He heard the guards calling, running over. The sound was muted and far away, like a pillow being held over his head. Someone was pulling him away, pulling off his helmet. The cool air felt good on his face.

He tried to struggle. He tried to explain. 

_Antidote._

_Find an antidote._

He couldn’t get the words to form. 

His vision tunneled, pulse thudding in his ears, then nothing.


	17. It’s All in The Recovery

Awareness trickled back in bits and pieces. His body felt heavy and feeble. His eyes where gummy, his mouth dry. There was a bitter aftertaste thick on his tongue. Something medicinal. Healing potions. He could breathe again but everything hurt. He was surrounded by warm blankets on a hard surface. 

He blinked his vision into focus. He was on his cot back at the Netch. He looked over to the other bed. 

Empty. 

There was a soft rasping scratch. He focused on it, trying to identify what is was. The sound repeated in a broken uneven pattern. The splash of water…

The sound of a razor over stubble. It took him back to childhood and memories of his father shaving to go to work. Not to mention his own near daily ritual to keep his hair and goatee neat and even. 

Shifting to look around, he saw Ceirin, leaning down to squint at his reflection in a small dingy mirror atop the wash basin stand in their narrow room. He waited until the altmer lowered the blade to rinse it again.

“Are you old enough to be doing that?” 

Ceirin jumped and looked over, gold eyes wide. Bruises and half healed cuts stood out against his otherwise scrubbed clean skin. He dropped the razor into the basin and ran out the door, face still half lathered, the slap of his bare feet on the stone fading out into the main room.

Teldryn sighed and dropped his head back to the pillow. He just didn’t have the energy for another fight right now…He braced himself and sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain and stiff limbs. The bandages wrapped around his midsection pinched as he shifted. 

The memory of the dagger sinking in shivered down his back and made the wound ache.

Footsteps approached. Several sets.

The former priestess and resident healer, Aphia, entered the room followed by Geldis and Ceirin. Aphia moved around with the firm assurance of being in charge, leaving the scent of face powder and lavender tea in her wake. Geldis just looked him over from the doorway, nodded his acknowledgement and went back to work. 

Ceirin had to finish shaving while not getting in Aphia’s way, which resulted in an ongoing dance of shuffled steps, bumped elbows, and muttered apologies. 

He only nicked himself once.

Teldryn was given permission to bathe and encouraged to eat, neither of which would be a problem for him. He was also told to stay in his room and rest for at least two more days, which was more of a problem. He’d be climbing the walls by tomorrow morning, he was sure. 

He learned that the guards had found the antidote and then hauled him back to the temple. When he had no longer been in immediate danger, he had been moved back to his bed where Aphia had taken over his care. He gathered from the sidelong looks and tense pauses that it had been a close thing. 

After she left, he had a bath and then Geldis brought them both bowls of vegetable stew and a loaf of bread fresh from the oven, as well as the latest gossip. That was the first Teldryn heard of Miraak being defeated. Geldis didn’t say as much, but when he checked Ceirin’s reaction, the altmer was keeping his eyes to the floor while he ate. _So that was how he had gotten so beat up._

After Geldis left, an uncomfortable silence began to fill up the room.

Teldryn finished eating with a frown, knowing they had things to say to one another. Best to get on with it.

“Ceirin?”

“Yes?” the altmer’s quiet tone was guarded. 

He tried to think of how to start the conversation.

“Have you ever been caught?”

Ceirin studied Teldryn for a moment, gauging whether or not he was mocking before he answered.

“Yeah. Not for years, but I have.” He nodded, raising his fingers to brush his hair out of his face.

Teldryn noticed he’d taken out the earrings he wore. With dark circles under his eyes and covered in half healed bruises, Ceirin looked for all the world like some transient youth who’d gotten mugged while staying in a hostel someplace and was waiting, defeated, for his parents to bring him home. The energy had gone out of him. All the charm, the roguish flair for drama, that little spark of mischief, was gone. It struck Teldryn as a loss that went beyond the physical injuries, but he wasn’t sure what made him think so. He supposed it could just be exhaustion. 

“What do you do?” He asked.

“You run.” 

“What happens when…you can’t run?”

Ceirin’s expression darkened.

“You hide. Fighting is a last resort. That’s part of why people like you hate thieves, isn’t it? You think we’re cowards.” He shrugged as though that opinion didn’t hurt him any and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, back stiff. “What is this about, Teldryn?”

Teldryn sighed, defeated. He was too tired to try and save face in this now. He couldn’t dislodge the feeling that if Ceirin had been there…

“This job I did while you were gone…Arano had me investigate the Severins. I had to break in.”

He told Ceirin then about having no idea what he was doing, getting caught because he had tracked in dirt, and being trapped under the bed, at which point the altmer interrupted to express professional horror at the choice of hiding place. He told him about fighting his way out and thinking he had killed two people before he had any proof of what they had done.

“You’re not wrong. I did think thieves were cowards. But it was more than that. I thought they were lazy. To just walk in and take whatever you wanted without earning it? I thought that was low.”

“I owe you an apology, Ceirin. I judged you poorly when all you did was tell me the truth even though it put you at risk to do that. I know you’re not a coward. You’ve been more than fair to me. It..it takes skill…to do some of what you do.” He dropped his eyes to the floor as he admitted the last part.

“I’m sorry.” When he looked back up, Ceirin was squinting at him.

“Alright. Who are you and what have you done with Teldryn Sero?”

Teldryn rolled his eyes and was searching for a sarcastic retort when the altmer interrupted him.

“Apology accepted. I knew… when I told you all that, that it might bite me. You didn’t run to the guards to have me arrested. Could’ve been worse.” 

“So, why did you tell me?” 

Ceirin rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he responded.

“Everywhere I go, people have this preconceived idea of who I am and how I’m supposed to be.”

“Dragonborn.” Teldryn supplied.

The altmer nodded. “Either I’m the hero, or the criminal.”

“Solstheim is the first place I’ve been in a while that no one knew. I was just… me. When the rest of it started coming out…I could see that starting to happen again. And then when you asked about Riften? So I guess I went for the shock value, just to see what you would do with the truth. I’m not sure what I expected. Thieves don’t make friends.” That self-deprecating shrug again.

“Well, maybe, you made one.” Teldryn offered and looked away.

Ceirin watched him for long moment before nodding in acknowledgement.

“Just, no more contracts. I want to be able to argue with you and not lose my job.”

“Agreed.” Ceirin smiled a bit, the spark resurfacing for a moment, but it faded fast. 

Teldryn was getting ready to ask him what had happened with the books but just then there was a knock at the door.

The conversation was interrupted by Glover sticking his head in to see how they were both doing and to let them know he would have their gear repaired by weeks end. The three chatted a bit before Aphia returned with more healing potions for both of them and shooed the blacksmith out, giving them orders to rest.

Back to just the two of them, the uncomfortable silence built up again. Teldryn still wanted to hear what had happened to Ceirin.

“Trade you?” He offered, after thinking on it for a few minutes.

“Stories?” 

Teldryn nodded. 

Ceirin stretched, yawned, and settled back on his bed with his bare feet pulled up cross legged. The spellsword noticed he had what looked like burn scars on the bottoms of his feet. He made a mental note to add it to his ever growing list of questions.

“Ok. But we’re not allowed to drink. Healing potions and blood loss and all that.” He made a face and shifted to pull his blankets up around his shoulders, leaning back against the wall.

Teldryn swore. It was better with alcohol. Easier. 

They talked, hesitant at first, and then more as the evening wore on. The lamp on the table burned low and steady and then burned itself out. The darkness made it easier then, like alcohol, somehow.

Ceirin told him about reading three books in one night, Teldryn interrupted to express professional horror at his doing that at all. About how Storn had given his life to get him a single word. About Hermaeus Mora killing Miraak for losing and then letting him leave albeit with a claim on him. How he had been exiled by Frea immediately after she had forced a healing potion down his throat to make sure he could at least make it back to Raven Rock alive.

“I think I must be cursed.” The altmer confessed.

Teldryn understood then that it was guilt more so than fatigue or injury that had dimmed Ceirin’s spirit.

He considered pointing out that if a Daedric Prince was involved, then there wasn’t a whole lot Ceirin could’ve done to change the outcome. Dunmer didn’t frighten as easily as other races where the Daedra where concerned. Their entire racial history revolved around a Daedric curse, after all. 

But he also knew the altmer was bright enough to have figured that out on his own and it hadn’t helped, so instead, he ribbed Ceirin some more about how lucky he was that he had had the decent sense not to sleep with Mirri that night because of how awkward it would have turned out for him. What with her turning out to be a spy and an assassin and all…

He knew it worked when Ceirin called him a filthy name and a pillow flew out of the darkness to smack him in the head. For the first time in what felt like a long while, they both laughed, despite the pain. He tossed the pillow back.

Yawns began to intersperse their words and the stories trailed off, burning out like the lamp, to leave a comfortable silence behind.

Tired and still healing, it wasn’t much longer before they were both asleep.


	18. One for the Road

By weeks end, their wounds were healed to fresh scars. Their gear was repaired and back in their room, Glover being as good as his word on the schedule, as always. 

They had passed the time talking, playing games. Teldryn had won roughly half their card games, but hadn’t been able to figure out if Ceirin was cheating or not. He had also heard about Ceirin’s introduction to Skyrim; an arrest followed by a narrow escape from a dragon attack in some mountain town called Helgen. Ceirin had learned about the only other job the spellsword had ever quit; an orc would- be- warlord with serious hygiene issues, and about how Teldryn had been mugged three times during his first year living in Windhelm.

They had talked about their training in swordplay, which they had both started young, enjoyed, and excelled at. The spellsword had found out that Ceirin had been attending a university before he’d fled, which had helped him to narrow down his guesses for how old the altmer might be, but he still hadn’t gotten it right. Assuming Ceirin would tell him when he did…They never had agreed to any rules where that was concerned.

All in all, it had been a restful and productive few days. He hadn’t felt quite like climbing the walls. Ceirin’s presence had made the time pass swiftly. It had occurred to him during the past days, when he’d tried to get to the core of what he thought about the altmer, that if thieves didn’t make many friends, then certainly mercenaries didn’t either. At least, not the kind that he trusted with his life. He had found that he did indeed still trust the altmer, in spite of his ‘other job’. Where that revelation left him, he was not entirely certain.

He stood in the middle of the room staring at Ceirin’s side of the room; clothes folded, weapons cleaned and set out, his pack sitting at the foot of the bed, waiting. He had gone to buy his ticket back to the mainland. 

He was leaving.

Tonight.

The spellsword had no idea what he would do next. How did one go on to top working for the Dragon born; spectacular fights, ancient knowledge, and copious amounts of treasure? The room already felt empty. Solstheim seemed dull as the ash that covered it. He had no better ideas of where he should go.   
He only knew this place wasn’t home anymore. He leaned down and pulled the claw he’d taken from the slain dragon out of his own pack and then sat on his bed, turning it this way and that, remembering. 

Boots thudded down the stairs and Ceirin’s voice called from the main room.

“Hey Teldryn, boat leaves in half an hour. You want to grab a last drink?” 

The altmer came in and stopped when he saw Teldryn sitting looking at the claw. 

“I’ll be along.” 

Ceirin frowned. “Ok… but half an hour?”

“I hear you.” He couldn’t stop himself from sounding irritable. He hated goodbyes. Terrible, awkward things. Too emotional. Setting the claw down, he tried again. “I’ll help you pack up the rest of this, if you need.”

He moved to the altmer’s side and started rolling up folded clothes. He needed something to do, or he would be left to focus on the tight feeling in his chest. _Ridiculous._

Ceirin stayed standing where he was, watching the spellsword with one eyebrow arched in wry confusion, eyes flicking from his side of the room to other and back again.

“What about yours?” 

“What?” Teldryn glanced up from the neat rolls of clothes he had lined up on the altmer’s bed.

Ceirin pointed around at Teldryn’s side of the room; his empty pack, the dragon claw, all his stuff.

“The boat leaves in half an hour. Why haven’t you packed?”

The spellsword followed the altmer’s finger to look at all his things, and then looked back at Ceirin. Had he heard that right?

Rolling his eyes, Ceirin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a ticket. With a little flourish, he held it out. Teldryn stared and didn’t take it.

“Well, if you no longer want it, I can always sell it down at the docks for twice the price.” He made as if he were turning to walk away.

“Give me that, you fetcher” Teldryn grabbed the ticket and scrambled to get his stuff together so he could get it all shoved into his pack as fast as possible. 

Ceirin was laughing at him while when Geldis knocked on the door frame. 

“You actually getting this freeloader out of my tavern, after all the years he’s lived here? Well, will wonders never cease.” 

Ceirin grinned. Teldryn gave his soon to be former landlord and bartender a mock glare. 

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t leave without saying a proper goodbye. Come and find me before you head out. I’ll pour you one for the road.”

They hurried to finish their packing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all.   
> First- Thanks to all of you who read this through to the end. It’s been a fun ride!  
> This is really the first ‘lengthy’ (if you can call it that) thing I’ve ever written that wasn’t for a college assignment.   
> I got the idea to write this partly because I wanted to explore the character and background for my Ceirin and partly because if you play the Thieves guild line, you meet Enthir and hear him talk about how he got to be friends with Gallus. I was interested in how and why a supposed moral character would choose to remain friends with someone after learning they were possibly less moral : )   
>  I needed a lens, someone who knew Ceirin better than I did. That became Teldryn. Mostly because I have weakness for sarcasm and tattoos.   
> Some of you have pointed out that they read at times like a couple. The reason is that is that I do ship them as such but that I see that happening later in their relationship. I knew it was bleeding through into their interactions while I wrote this, but since it was something I knew as the author, that the characters didn’t know yet, I had to be careful about how much I let that happen. I wanted this stage of things to end in an it-could-go-either-way and I hope I struck a good balance for that. 
> 
> Take care and thanks again for reading!


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